by Alison Stone
“I am the boy’s stepmother. His mother died when he was very young. Samuel is like my own.”
The word oh formed and died on Hannah’s lips. “But you weren’t with him at the church service yesterday.”
“My youngest was ill. I kept both little ones home.” As if on cue, two small children ran up and clung to their mother’s skirt. Rebecca gently touched one head, then the other. “This is Katie and Grace.”
Hannah smiled. Nostalgia edged her grief. This was the life she had walked away from. “Hi, girls.” She lifted her gaze to their mother. “May I speak with Willard? Perhaps I can go to the barn.”
“No, he doesn’t like to be disturbed.” Rebecca pushed open the front door with her bare foot. Behind her, the girls peered around their mother. “I suppose he won’t mind if you come in and wait a minute. He should be in for lunch soon.” Rebecca spun on her heel. Hannah followed her to the kitchen where Rebecca continued to make lunch, but didn’t offer Hannah a seat or anything to drink.
Hannah decided this must be what it felt like to be shunned.
“Go wash your hands,” Rebecca said to the little ones.
The two children, Hannah guessed, were around five or six. Close to Emma’s age. She wondered if they were friendly with her nieces. She was about to ask them when they spun around and ran away, presumably to wash their hands.
“I’m sorry about Ruthie.”
“Thank you.” Hannah cleared her throat, eager to change subjects. “Samuel has been a big help to me on the farm.”
Rebecca nodded. “I suppose there’s not much to do on the farm nowadays with John working down the way.” Her friend was too polite to make mention of the fact that currently John wasn’t working anywhere.
Hannah touched her cap, suddenly self-conscious. “I suppose it’s true. There are no crops to worry about, but the animals still need care. I appreciate Samuel’s help.”
Rebecca nodded again. She put aside the knife she had been using to spread the apple butter on bread and said, “Ruthie was like a sister to me.”
“Ruthie felt the same way about you.” Guilt snuck up and twisted Hannah’s insides. “I’m sorry I left Apple Creek without saying goodbye to you. You had always been a dear friend.”
Her friend shrugged and turned back around and continued to prepare her family’s lunch.
Hannah leaned her shoulder on the door frame. “I couldn’t tell you I was leaving. I couldn’t tell anyone.”
Rebecca turned around with a spoon in her hand. Something red from the spoon plopped onto the floor. The hurt expression on her friend’s face wounded her. “I thought we were gut friends. It wonders me why you snuck away from Apple Creek in the middle of the night. I never imagined you a fence jumper. The bishop, your parents, everyone came to me with questions.” Rebecca drew in a shuddering breath on the verge of tears. “I didn’t have any answers.”
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to put you in that position.” Hannah tugged on the collar of her Amish dress. Right now she longed for cooler English clothes and air-conditioning.
Rebecca turned around and resumed preparing the lunches. “Yah well, I thought you were happy here.”
“I wasn’t.” Hannah didn’t tell her friend about her father’s verbal abuse. And how could she explain her discontent with a life her friend embraced?
“I wish you had told me.” Rebecca’s words were so soft Hannah had to strain to hear them.
The back door slammed, and Willard stomped into the kitchen. He came up short when he saw Hannah. He spun around and told Samuel to grab his sisters and go back outside. Something flickered across his face and then disappeared. A bead of sweat rolled down Hannah’s back.
Willard glared accusingly at his wife. “You have a visitor?”
“I’m here to see you.” Hannah quickly spoke up, not wanting her friend to get into trouble.
“Do you have news regarding John?” Willard asked, his voice gruff.
“No, I was hoping to ask you about John. I know you were good friends. How was he? I mean, before Ruthie died?”
Willard washed his hands in the sink, dried them on a towel and then hung the towel on a wood peg. “Gut.”
Hannah smoothed a hand across her bib. “My sister was worried about him.”
“You spoke with Ruth?” Willard’s tone was strangely flat.
Hannah nodded, feeling like a fifteen-year-old who had been caught kissing a boy behind the barn, not a grown woman who had every right to spend time with her sister. “We met a few times and chatted. We’re family. We missed each other.”
Willard pulled out a chair and slammed the legs down on the floor. Rebecca flinched. “You made your choice when you left Apple Creek.”
“Hannah just lost her sister. Don’t be...” Rebecca deflated under her husband’s withering stare. Rebecca had swiftly come to her defense often when they were kids. It had been Rebecca, Ruthie and Hannah. The three musketeers. The only consolation Hannah had when she left was that Ruthie still had Rebecca. But it seemed now Willard had Rebecca and kept a tight rein on her.
“Don’t be...what?” Willard repeated.
Rebecca seemed to swallow hard to gather her nerve. “Hannah made a bad decision when she left Apple Creek, but we can have compassion now as she deals with her sister’s death. Perhaps this is Gott’s way of bringing her back home.”
Hannah stifled a grimace at the notion God had used her sister’s murder to bring her back into the fold.
“We need to find forgiveness,” Rebecca added.
“Are you looking for forgiveness?” Willard picked up his spoon and scooped up a mouthful of soup, never taking his eyes off Hannah.
“I am here to find out about John.” She struggled to keep her jaw from trembling.
Willard dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “John seemed fine. He was a hardworking Amish man dedicated to his family. We both had lost our way, much like you—” she knew he had to get a dig in there “—but we had both come to realize living apart from the temptations of the outside world was the way our parents and their parents before them wanted things.”
“I can’t believe Ruthie’s gone.” Rebecca turned and filled four more bowls and set them on the table across from her husband.
Willard flattened his palms on the table on either side of his soup bowl. “Rebecca can mind Emma and Sarah Lapp until their father returns. I understand you have a job in Buffalo you have to get back to.”
Hannah did a double take. The Amish grapevine was amazing.
“I am capable of caring for my nieces.” Hannah hiked her chin.
Rebecca watched her husband carefully. She stood behind her chair, waiting for something, and then Hannah realized she was preventing her friend from eating.
“I better go.”
Rebecca led her to the door and whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t invite you to stay for lunch. Willard is quite strict and believes we should stay separate from the English. No exceptions.” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry.”
Hannah brushed the back of her friend’s hand. “But it’s me, Rebecca.” Her friend seemed unmoved, so Hannah nodded. “It’s okay.”
Rebecca retreated into the house, and Hannah could hear her calling the children in to eat. Loneliness weighed heavily on her, and she swallowed down a lump of grief in her throat.
Forever the outsider.
* * *
Each day was running into the next, and Hannah struggled to remember what day it was. She rolled out of bed and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, figuring no one would see her at this hour. 5:00 a.m. was horribly early to have responsibilities like farm animals. Samuel had told her yesterday he had to help his father on the farm this morning, but he’d do his best to stop by and help in the afternoon. Part of her wondered if W
illard just wanted to make it more difficult for her so she’d be forced to concede.
However, to be fair, the Fishers had a farm of their own to run.
Hannah gave herself a pep talk and splashed cold water on her face. She better get used to getting up this early if she planned on staying. If. She slipped her cell phone into her back pocket. It gave her a sense of security. She was grateful she had thought to bring the car charger for her phone. She still hadn’t gotten used to being out in the country in the middle of nowhere, and she hadn’t installed the locks on the house, a small part of her fearing she’d be breaking the rules and giving the elders another reason to ask her to leave. In the darkness of early morning, her reasoning sounded silly. She had to keep her nieces safe.
She stalked quietly through the darkened house. She grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen counter and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. A warm summer breeze carried the farm scents of her childhood and with it not nostalgia but a longing for something more. A longing that had grown from her preteen years into her teen years, into something she couldn’t dismiss. Something bigger that could only be found beyond the fences of the Amish community.
But had she found more in her boring job in Buffalo? A feeling of acceptance, of belonging, eluded her. Her condescending former boyfriend and her roommates didn’t understand or want to understand her conservative ways. Hannah had found cheap rent near the university, but not like minds.
Hannah glanced toward her mother’s residence. Dark, just as she expected it to be. She wondered, not for the first time, if the Lapp family would care for her mother if Hannah returned to Buffalo. The Amish rallied around one another, right?
Her mind drifted a lot in the early-morning quiet hours. She remembered Ruthie—during their secretive meetings over French fries and shakes—telling her how wonderful it would be for the girls to know their aunt. For Hannah to one day get married and raise her family nearby. If only Hannah would come back to Apple Creek and be baptized.
A wave of guilt slammed into Hannah. Why had she been so quick to brush off her sister’s request? What if Hannah had returned? Would she have seen the deteriorating relationship between Ruthie and John and been able to intervene? If that had indeed been the case.
Hannah grimaced when her sneaker hit something smooshie as she entered the barn. She lifted up her foot and noticed a dark shadow of who-knows-what. She groaned. She so wasn’t cut out for this. The bishop’s words scraped across her brain. All she had to do was turn her nieces over to their aunt and uncle, and she could return to her regular life.
Her regular life.
No cow dung. No horses. No predawn chores.
Her boring, unfulfilled, regular life.
She had escaped the Amish life only to find her life still unfulfilled.
She shook her head and kept moving forward. The cow mooed halfheartedly, and she patted his backside. “That’s how I feel, too, buddy.”
Hannah turned on a kerosene lamp, spreading a warm, yellow glow across the barn.
She knew how to milk a cow by hand—one of the perks of growing up on a farm—but she had gotten accustomed to running to the grocery store for a gallon of milk. For the past decade, her biggest concern with milk had been making sure she consumed it before the expiration date. Which wasn’t always an easy task when she was the only one drinking it.
Hannah pulled up a stool and talked to the cow reassuringly. She had found a usable pail in the far corner of the barn.
A crash—the tinkling of breaking glass—sounded behind her. The barn was immediately cast into darkness. She froze and swallowed her growing panic. Her thumping heart drowned out the silence.
“Is someone there?” she croaked out.
A crackle. Then another.
Fear swept across her arms, and sweat pooled down her back. She grabbed the flashlight next to her stool and directed it toward where she had placed the lamp. The kerosene lamp had crashed onto the barn floor. The flammable liquid spread across the loose hay scattered on the floor.
Panic edged out all rational thought.
Fire! The animals!
Hannah bolted past the flames. She had to do something. Then as if by divine intervention, she remembered the blanket in the barn near Buttercup’s stall.
She grabbed the blanket, the heavy, scruffy burlap, her only hope. Buttercup neighed in protest, as if sensing Hannah’s panic. She tossed the blanket onto the flames licking across the loose hay, eager to sweep across the barn floor. She stomped on the blanket a few more times to make sure the flames were extinguished.
Shaking and unsure of herself, afraid to leave the barn in case a hot spot flared up, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone.
If Bishop Lapp and his eldest son hadn’t convinced her she had no business working this farm and caring for her nieces, this fire had.
* * *
Spencer’s cell phone interrupted his dream. He couldn’t recall the specifics, but he was pretty sure a real-life nightmare was haunting his dreams. He wondered if he’d ever get past that night in Buffalo.
He shook off the guilt and sleep and answered the phone with a curt, “Maxwell.”
Hannah sounded equal parts frightened and embarrassed when she explained the accident that had led to a small fire. She had convinced herself, but not him, that she had extinguished it. He dressed quickly and drove out to the Lapp’s farm in a record eleven minutes. After recent events, he wasn’t assuming anything was an accident.
When he arrived, he found Hannah right where she said she’d be, at the door of the barn where she could keep an eye on the animals and the house where her nieces slept.
He pulled his truck onto the grass and climbed out. The sky was pink and purple with fingers of white clouds. Funny how he noticed things out here. In the city, he had forgotten to look up at the sky.
Hannah leaned against the barn door dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders. This was the woman he found himself drawn to, but he had to push that thought from his head. If she was going to return to her Amish roots, he didn’t want to be standing there with a broken heart.
And his job was to protect her. Period.
Hannah levered off the edge of the barn door and pointed at the charred blanket on the ground. “I must have put the lamp too close to the edge. It fell over... I could have burned the entire barn down.” She glanced nervously toward the house. “The wind could have carried the flames to the house. My nieces...” Anger creased her forehead. “Maybe I’m not cut out for life on a farm raising my sister’s daughters. Maybe everyone is right.”
Spencer inspected the charred blanket. “You were smart. You contained the fire. It’s okay.” He tossed the blanket outside and touched her upper arms lightly. “Look at me.”
She bowed her head and sobbed quietly. Her legs seemed to go out from under her, and he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and stilled for a moment. The floral scent of her shampoo tickled his nose. He refused to let down his guard. This was strictly a professional relationship. Suddenly, as if reading his mind, she stiffened and stepped away from him, batting away at the tears that glistened on her cheeks in the morning sun.
Sirens sounded in the distance. A horrified look flashed in her eyes. “Did you alert the fire department?”
“Yes, I couldn’t risk wasting precious time if the fire had gotten out of control.”
“Oh, no. Now the neighbors will really be talking.”
“Stop worrying about them.”
“My mother!” Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “I better go tell her everything’s okay.”
Spencer nodded then strode across the driveway to meet the fire engine. A firefighter jumped out of the truck and followed Spencer into the barn.
A few minutes later, Hannah joined him in the yard. “My mother’s had to deal with a lot lately.”
“Is she okay?”
Hannah nodded. “And believe it or not, Emma and Sarah are still sleeping.”
“The firemen are going to saturate the area around the charred hay to make sure there’re no hot spots.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been through a lot, too. Sit down.” Spencer guided her to the grassy incline.
Hannah let out a sigh. She held a fisted hand to her mouth. “I don’t belong here.”
“You’re fine, everything’s fine.” Spencer rubbed her back in small circles, trying to reassure her.
“I wanted to do right by my sister. By my sister’s children. But I’m not meant to run a farm.” She swept her hand in the air in front of her. “I can’t even commit to the wardrobe, never mind their ways.” She shook her head. “I had hoped to take it day by day, but...” She threaded her fingers through her hair. “I almost burned down the barn.”
Spencer tilted his head in an attempt to get her to shift her gaze from the barn to him. He was rewarded with a sad smile.
“For a city girl, you really thought fast.” He stood and picked up the discarded blanket. The fire had burned two large holes into the fabric with a smattering of tiny dots. He folded it and tossed it down again.
She shrugged and hugged her knees to her chest.
Spencer scanned the barn. Something about this rubbed him the wrong way. “Did you see anyone out here this morning?”
Hannah’s eyes flashed wide. “No. You think someone knocked over the lantern? Tried to burn down the barn?” She flattened her hand on her midsection and looked like she was going to be sick.
“Just the other night someone slashed your tires.” He scrubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. “Too many things to be considered a coincidence. Listen...” She accepted his outstretched hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She swiped at the back of her jeans.
“I fear the next time someone goes after you, they aren’t going to slash your tires or knock over a lantern.”
