by Alison Stone
And if Samuel was pulling these destructive pranks in some misguided attempt to chase her away, she needed to get through to him. Yet she didn’t want him to run away from Apple Creek if his stern father came down too hard on him.
Like she had run away from her stern father.
Hannah pressed her fingers to her temples. A headache threatened behind her eyes.
Rebecca appeared in the doorway with that wary expression she had come to wear. Hannah missed her bubbly friend. So much had changed since their youth. Rebecca angled her head to look around Hannah to the police cruiser parked on the street.
After a long hesitation, Rebecca pushed open the door, the dish towel pressed to her chest. “Is something wrong? Is Samuel...?”
Hannah took her friend’s cool hand in hers. “No one is hurt.” She lowered her voice. “I was hoping to talk to Samuel. Isn’t he here?”
Rebecca narrowed her gaze. “I’m not sure where he is. I expected he’d be home for dinner by now.”
“Is your husband home?”
“Willard’s out in the barn.” She lowered the dish towel to her side. Worry lined the corners of her eyes. “Do you want me to get him?”
“I’d like to talk to you alone first, if I may.”
All the color drained from Rebecca’s face. “I don’t know...”
“You can have friends, right? I’m dressed appropriately.” Hannah cocked her head and smiled. “We’re friends. Remember?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I can talk for a minute. Out here on the porch.”
Hannah nodded, studying her friend’s face. “Is Samuel having trouble at home?”
Rebecca’s expression grew shuttered. “Samuel’s a gut boy.”
Hannah weighed how much she should say. She didn’t want to cause any more trouble for Samuel, but if he had destroyed her clothes on the wash line, he needed help. And he needed to be stopped.
“Can I share something with you, and can you promise me you won’t get mad at Samuel?”
Rebecca’s long pause gave Hannah all the permission she needed.
“I found Samuel in my barn reading a book his father wouldn’t approve of.” Hannah decided to ease into the conversation.
Rebecca’s forehead twitched, but she immediately smoothed out her expression. The dish towel she twisted in her hands received the brunt of her emotions.
Hannah touched her friend’s forearm. “It wasn’t anything horrible. He was reading a novel that seems to be very popular today. I read it myself. Other than some fantasy themes that you might not like, it’s rather a good book.”
Rebecca’s expression grew pinched, and her gaze flicked to the doorway.
“He was afraid his father wouldn’t approve.”
“No, Willard wouldn’t,” Rebecca muttered. “He likes to limit what Samuel reads.” Her knuckles turned white around the twisted dish towel. “I’ll make sure I tell Samuel to stick to his chore list when he comes over.”
“No, that’s not why I stopped by. I felt bad for him. I struggled myself when I was his age.”
Anger flashed in her friend’s eyes. “Don’t fill his head with ideas.” She pointed adamantly to the ground. “Samuel belongs here in Apple Creek. With his family. He is my son. Don’t...” Her voice wavered.
“I would never do that, Rebecca. I’m worried. If Samuel is afraid of his father, he might run away on his own. You don’t want to lose him forever.”
Rebecca met her friend’s gaze and hiked her chin. “What did you need to speak to my son about? This book? I will talk to him about it.” Something flitted across her dark eyes that unnerved Hannah.
“There’s something else.” Hannah watched Rebecca’s face on the verge of crumbling. “Someone threw tar on my English clothes. I want to know if Samuel knows anything about it.” Hannah made a spontaneous decision not to tell her friend that Emma had seen Samuel running away from her farm.
Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Of course he doesn’t know anything about it. He’s a gut boy.” She started waving the dish towel at Hannah like she was a housefly she needed to shoo away from her freshly baked pies.
“Rebecca!” Willard’s voice boomed from inside the house. He must have come in through the back door. Rebecca flinched, and Hannah immediately regretted any trouble her presence might cause her friend. Footsteps sounded through the house, and then Willard appeared at the screen door.
“I didn’t realize we had company.” Willard stepped outside, his gaze searing the length of Hannah before he turned his focus to Spencer’s cruiser parked on the road. “Is something wrong?”
Hannah took a step back. “Spencer...Sheriff Maxwell stopped by the farm, and when I needed to talk to Samuel he offered to drive me over.”
“You need to talk to Samuel? He’s not home. Can I help you with something?”
“She wants Samuel to come fifteen minutes earlier in the morning because she has a few extra chores,” Rebecca interrupted. “I told her that would be okay as long as he was home in time to do chores around here.”
Willard studied his wife. He opened his mouth to say something then stopped. He nodded. “Samuel will come by earlier in the morning. Anything else?”
Hannah shook her head, feeling foolish. She waved and turned on her heel. “Denki.” She hustled down the stairs toward Spencer, who had gotten out of the car. She caught his elbow and turned him around.
Spencer opened the door for her, and she climbed in. Her gaze drifted to the porch where Willard watched her. Spencer got in his side and slammed the door.
Her stomach dropped. “I’m worried Willard overheard Rebecca and me. I had no intention of getting Samuel into trouble with his father.”
“Even if he destroyed your property?”
“What if Emma was mistaken? She’s only a child. What if it was John as we’ve suspected all along? Maybe Samuel had witnessed something and ran away.” A weight pressed heavily on Hannah’s lungs. “And if Samuel did destroy my clothes, he’s a troubled young man. I fear Willard’s temper would only strike fear and resentment in his son and make Samuel lash out more.”
* * *
After Hannah put her nieces to bed, she grabbed a plastic garbage bag and slipped outside to the back porch to where her ruined clothes sat in a laundry basket. She picked up her jeans and muttered, “Some nerve.”
“We’ll catch him.”
Hannah spun around, her hand pressed to her beating chest. “You scared me.” She had to stifle the urge to slug Spencer. The slow smile spreading across his face didn’t help.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice husky. “You left your cell phone charging in my car.” He placed her phone and charger on the window ledge.
“Thanks.”
“And I thought you could use some company.”
“Hmm...” She was too much in a funk to admit that yes, she was happy for the company. “Keep hanging around here and people are going to talk.”
“People talk anyway.” Mischief danced in his eyes, which were partially shadowed by the gathering dusk.
She ignored his comment. With swift jerky motions, she stuffed the ruined clothes into the garbage bag. She dropped the bag, and it landed with a plop on the pine planks of the porch. Hannah leaned against the railing and tugged off her bonnet. Her tight bun was giving her a tension headache.
Hannah rolled her shoulders and sighed. “I don’t believe Samuel did this.”
Spencer sniffed. “Even though Emma saw him running across the yard?”
“Even though Emma saw him running across the yard.” Hannah bit the inside of her lip. “He might have been running so I wouldn’t see him coming out of the barn again. He’s afraid his father will scold him for reading inappropriate books, or using a cell phone.” She shrugged, considering another less likely scenario. “Or h
e might have seen who really ruined my clothes and ran away in fear.”
Spencer made a sound from the back of his throat. “I tried to track Samuel down after I dropped you off. No luck. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Hannah said resigned. “I suppose we won’t know more until we talk to him.”
Leaning over the laundry basket, she grabbed her favorite pj bottoms, now pink with splatters of black tar. “You’d think a girl could wear whatever she wanted to bed without being harassed.”
She dropped the pj bottoms into the garbage bag and wiped a splotch of black tar from her thumb onto the plastic. “Someone’s determined to chase me away.”
“Who has the most to gain if you leave?” Spencer’s voice was calm, calculating as he was working the pieces of the case. She didn’t understand the empty disappointment that suddenly expanded within her. She lowered her gaze, pretending to study the black plastic bag at her feet. This was just another case to him. It wasn’t personal.
“Lester and Fannie Mae are determined to raise the children,” Spencer added, still deep in thought. “And more important, if I leave, they can finally take over the land. They want to farm the land that is sitting idle.”
Spencer let out a heavy sigh in the gathering darkness. He stood and joined her next to the railing.
Hannah closed her eyes briefly. “I didn’t like Lester from the minute I met him, but would he really be this...underhanded? This destructive? I don’t know him well enough.”
“I’m going to ask you again, Hannah. Would you please consider leaving the farm with the girls? It would be safer.” The concern in Spencer’s voice made a tingling start in her fingers and shoot up her arms.
“I can’t leave with the girls. Their grandparents and aunt and uncle will argue the case that John will come back. He is still their rightful guardian.”
She shook her head. How had she gotten into this mess?
“What’s going on in your head?”
“This whole situation is so far out of my element. But there’s one thing I learned all the years of living alone in Buffalo.” She braced her hands on the railing and hung her head.
“Care to share?” The breeze kicked up. The overpowering smell of tar was replaced by grass and dirt and hay.
“It’s cliché but true. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.”
“You’re telling me.” Spencer turned and rested his hip on the railing.
“You?” She angled her head. “You wear your police uniform very well.” She couldn’t imagine him not being able to find his place in the world.
Spencer held out his hand and laughed. “You wear your Amish wardrobe with flair.”
Hannah smiled demurely. “Flair. Hardly.” She swept her hand across her long gown. “I feel like I’ve been asked to put on clothes that I never thought I’d have to wear again. But I need to search for happiness in here.” She covered her heart with her hand. “I was miserable and terribly lonely in Buffalo. I never seemed to fit in. I refused to come back because I had made a mess of things when I left. Now—” she twisted her lips “—maybe this was all God’s plans. Allowing me to return. With grace. And to do what my sister would have wanted me to do.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
Hannah studied his face closely. “Didn’t you grow up going to church?”
Spencer frowned. “Oh, we went to church, all right. Sat in the front row. My mother forced us to go.”
Hannah’s heart sank.
“Once they left the sanctuary, my father went back on patrol, disillusioned with the things he saw every day on the streets. And my mother’s only concern was praying my dad came home every night. She was the devout one.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My father struggled with his faith. I suppose that’s why I’ve struggled with mine. My father warned me not to become a police officer. He said the job stole part of his soul. I only understood that after I worked the streets of Buffalo.”
Hannah covered his hand. “It’s never too late...”
Spencer cocked his head and pulled his hand away. He pointed to the garbage bag. “Now about those clothes.”
Hannah studied him for a moment. Now was not the time to push issues of faith. She cleared her throat. “Someone wanted to make a point.” She nudged the bag with the toe of her boot. “Point taken. I want it to end here. I don’t want any more trouble.”
“It needs to be investigated. Someone was on your farm. Destroyed your property.”
“I know.” Her words came out clipped. Tired. “We need to be careful how we proceed. I don’t want to get Samuel caught up in this if he’s innocent.”
“What if he’s not innocent?” Spencer seemed to stare right through her, and a bundle of nerves tangled inside her.
A creak sounded by the door, and Hannah spun around. She saw a flash of blond hair before it disappeared. “One of the girls is looking for me. I better go in.”
Spencer nodded and strolled down the steps. “Night.”
“Night.” Hannah slipped inside and closed the door and turned the key in the lock, something she had never imagined doing as a young girl growing up on the farm. She moved to the window and watched Spencer’s shadow disappear around the side of the house as he headed to his car.
Hannah found Sarah curled up in the rocker with the cat in her lap. The creature had made himself completely at home.
“Maybe the cat prefers to stay outdoors. We could make her a soft bed in the barn,” Hannah suggested. Growing up, her family had never kept pets in the house. Cats were meant for chasing mice in the barn.
Sarah glared right through her aunt without saying anything.
“Come on.” Hannah tapped her niece’s shoulder. “It’s time to get into bed.” She strode toward the stairs, hoping her niece would follow.
“He’s not a nice man.”
Hannah turned around slowly to see Sarah stroking the kitten’s head and staring at her. The girl’s eyes were hardened and too cold for the sweet child her sister had raised.
Hannah checked her tone and carefully chose her words. “Sheriff Maxwell is a good man. He’s helped me a few times since I returned to Apple Creek.” She softened her tone. “And remember he got us ice cream?”
Sarah pinched her lips and shook her head. “Dat told me policemen are bad.”
Hannah swallowed back her protest. Despite how much she despised John Lapp for what she suspected he had done to her sister, she had to remember he was the girl’s father.
“Dat wouldn’t want him coming around here. When my dat gets back, he’s going to be really mad.”
Anger grew in Hannah’s belly, but compassion ruled her brain.
“We need to consider each person for who they are, not their profession. Just because Sheriff Maxwell wears a uniform, doesn’t make him bad. In the English world, people count on law enforcement to help them. Even though the Amish like to keep separate, law enforcement is also there to protect us.”
“He’s nosy.” Sarah dragged her hand down the cat’s tail.
Hannah sat in the rocker next to her niece and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “According to your dat?”
Sarah nodded, some of the anger slipping away from her tight expression, perhaps at the mention of her father.
“Do you know why your dat would say that?” Hannah trod carefully, not wanting to upset the child. Her mother had died less than two weeks ago and her father had disappeared.
“Dat said Sheriff Maxwell knew nothing about the Amish way, and he should keep his nose out of our business.”
Replaying her niece’s words in her head, Hannah reached over and petted the cat. “Have you named him?”
Sarah’s steely gaze faltered. “Pumpkin.”
“That sounds
like a lovely name.”
Sarah scrunched up her face as if she were giving it some thought.
“Why didn’t your father like the police? Did something happen?” Hannah was thinking about the fight John got into with his brother in town.
Sarah stroked the cat from head to tail and then again. Without looking up, she said, “My dat and Uncle Lester were talking really loud in town.” The fight.
“Do you know why they were talking really loud?”
“Uncle Lester was mad at Dat. Dat claimed Uncle Lester didn’t know how important it was to be Amish. My uncle laughed. He thought my dat should be farming, not working for someone else.”
“Did you hear anything else?” Hannah kept stroking the cat, hoping to keep her niece talking.
“Dat said he’d never sell Uncle Lester the land.” Sarah’s thin shoulders crept up to her ears. “I don’t know what he meant.”
Hannah tucked a long blond hair behind Sarah’s ear. Too much adult stuff for such a little peanut. Hannah leaned in close. “Do you like living here?”
Sarah looked up with a question in her eyes. “Dat should be home soon.”
Tingles bit at Hannah’s fingers and raced up her arms. What if her father was already home? Harassing her?
* * *
Sheriff Maxwell swung by the police station after stopping by the farm. He had let the pretty Miss Wittmer distract him long enough.
“You’re here late.” Deputy Sheriff Mark Reynolds sat at his desk with photos spread out in front of him.
Spencer leaned over and picked up a photo. It was of an Amish man with a fat lip, but more important, his beard was slashed at an angle. Spencer slowly lifted his eyes to meet Mark’s. “Is this recent?”
Mark let out a long breath. “Yeah, the hospital called.” Mark consulted the file in front of him. “Abram Leising was attacked while he slept last night. His beard was cut.”
“Last night?” Spencer picked up another photo and studied the pained expression on the elderly man’s face.
“Mr. Leising arrived at the hospital late this afternoon. The staff told me he was an unwilling patient. He’s already back home.”
