by Alison Stone
“We haven’t had a case like this in six months.”
Mark nodded. “You think it’s our missing guy, John Lapp?”
Spencer rubbed his hand across his jaw. “He was a person of interest in our last break-in and beard cutting.”
“How much priority should we give this? I drove out to the Leising farm, but Abram was pretty tight-lipped.”
“Did he see the guy who cut his beard?”
“No, claimed it was dark. When he woke up, the intruder punched him in the mouth, dazed him.” Mark pushed the photos around with the eraser of a pencil. “I get the impression he wouldn’t have come to the hospital except the guy lost a tooth, and his grandson made him come in.”
“Maybe it’s John...maybe it’s a copycat.” Spencer mentally ticked through all the events of late. An Amish man’s beard was part of his identity. The perpetrator was lashing out against the Amish? Someone who has a grudge against the Amish? Did this sound like John Lapp?
Mark crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “How far do you want me to pursue this? The Amish like to live apart from us. Why should this be any different? Let them work it out for themselves. No one’s getting hurt...” He hesitated for a fraction. “Not really.”
From his perch on the corner of the desk, Spencer assessed his young deputy. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
The deputy slouched, some of the bravado draining out of him. “You don’t know what it was like to grow up in this town. The Amish can be a real pain sometimes. They need our help, but then refuse to press charges in court.” He waved his hand. “The kidnapping and murder of Mary Miller had the whole town divided. Got my boss fired.” He held out his hand. “But I guess that worked in your favor.”
Spencer felt a muscle working in his jaw. “It’s our job to bridge that gap. Make sure we have a good relationship with the Amish.”
Mark stood and strolled toward the door. He turned around and casually crossed his arms. “That may be how things work in the big city, but you can’t change people’s hearts in a small town. They’ve already formed their opinions.”
“If you really feel that way, you’re going to have to look past it to do your job.”
Mark slid a hand across his utility belt. “I’ll do my job. I always do.” He turned to walk away and tossed a “Night, boss” over his shoulder. The word boss was edged in a brittle tone.
Spencer dismissed it and glanced down at the photos his deputy had left on the desk. Had John Lapp been responsible for this and previous attacks? Had he been unstable long before he went after his wife? If he had gone after his wife...
Guilt wormed its way into his heart. If only Spencer had caught the intruder the first time a church elder was attacked in his home, perhaps he could have prevented Ruth’s murder.
* * *
The next morning, Hannah came downstairs in an Amish dress and started a breakfast of eggs and bacon. Any thoughts of resorting to her English wardrobe had gotten tarred and destroyed yesterday on the clothesline, save for a couple pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts. If she could just keep the girls on a regular routine, maybe the rest of the chaos in her life would settle down.
Wishful thinking?
She grabbed the kettle from the stove and went over to the sink to fill it. Through the window, she noticed a dark plume of smoke billowing up over the barn.
Frozen in place, her heart stopped. She spun around when she noticed Sarah’s thin coat was missing from the hook. She ran into the sitting room and nearly tripped over Emma, who was stacking blocks in the middle of the floor.
Hannah crouched down and clutched Emma’s shoulders, panic making it difficult to talk, to think. “Where’s your sister?”
Emma’s eyes flared wide. “She told me not to tell you.”
Hannah swallowed her growing fear. “You must tell me where she is.” She glanced out the window. The sky over the barn had turned black with smoke. “Did Sarah go out to the barn?”
Emma stared at her. Tears filled the little girl’s eyes. It took all Hannah’s energy not to shake the information out of her. “Emma, please tell me. Did she go to the barn?”
Hannah stood and ran to look out the window. Red and orange flames licked the roof. “You have to tell me.”
Emma nodded. “It’s a secret...” The little girl’s voice trailed off. Hannah held her breath, waiting for her to reveal what she knew. “Sarah went looking for Pumpkin. She thought you made her sleep in the barn.”
Hannah’s heart plummeted. “Stay here. Do you understand? Stay here.”
Hannah turned off the stove under the bubbling bacon. She grabbed a dish towel and ran it under water. She burst out the back door and bolted toward the barn barefoot. She rolled her ankle on a wagon-wheel rut. Pain shot up her leg, but she ignored it.
“Sarah! Sarah!” she screamed as she made her way to the barn. She scanned the yard. Adrenaline fueled her forward momentum and narrowed her vision.
Dear Lord, please let Sarah be okay. Please let her not be in the barn. Please Lord, let me find her now. Please, please, please...
She reached the barn with no sign of Sarah. The barn door was cracked open about a foot. Enough for a nine-year-old to easily slip through if she was looking for her kitty.
Hannah’s stomach revolted.
Not wanting to feed the flames, she squeezed through the door. Black smoke swirled around her. Creaking wood and howling flames sent terror clawing at her heart.
“Sarah!” Smoke gagged her.
Covering her mouth with the damp dishcloth, she pushed forward. What she wouldn’t do to not have this full, highly flammable skirt dangling around her legs.
She squinted and pushed farther into the barn. The rough, dry hay felt brittle under her bare feet. Her throat narrowed. No sign of Sarah.
In his stall, Buttercup neighed wildly. Holding her breath and covering her mouth, Hannah ran to his stall and opened the gate. The sweet animal was too frightened to move.
Dear Lord, I don’t have time for this frightened animal. Let me find Sarah.
She talked calmly to Buttercup and nudged him toward the door. Sensing freedom, he bolted outside to the open field.
Thank you, Lord.
Hannah sucked in a quick breath of fresh air at the door. “Sarah!” she yelled. “Sarah!” She covered her mouth with the damp cloth and slipped deeper into the barn.
Her lungs screamed for air. Stars danced in her line of vision. She opened the doors at the far end of the barn and shooed the cow out.
Panic and flames pushed in from all sides. “Sarah!”
A loud crack sounded. Terror squeezed the air from her lungs. She glanced up. A shadow descended on her.
Darkness.
EIGHT
Spencer had pulled onto the road and lifted Mrs. Greene’s hot brew to his lips when his cell phone went off. He glanced down and smiled. Hannah. Surprised, he lifted the phone to his ear. “Morning.”
Silence stretched across the line. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. His intuition told him something was wrong.
“Hannah? Are you there?” He waited what seemed like an eternity until he heard a little voice.
“My aenti needs help.”
Spencer secured his coffee in the cup holder and pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “Emma?”
He did a quick check of traffic, made a U-turn and pushed the accelerator to the floor in the direction of the Lapps’ farm. “What’s going on, Emma?”
“There’s a fire.”
“Where?”
“The barn...” He strained to hear her soft voice above his thrumming heartbeat.
“Listen carefully, Emma. Stay away from the barn. I’m on my way.”
“I’m scared.”
“It�
��s going to be okay. Where is your aunt?” He held his breath while waiting for the answer.
“The barn.”
He swallowed around the lump of terror in his throat. “I’m on my way. Okay?”
Without waiting for an answer he ended the call and dialed dispatch. “Send a fire crew to the Lapp farm on County Route 77.”
With his hot coffee roiling in his gut, he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
As he rounded the curve near the farm, he saw bright red flames shooting into the sky backed by ominous black clouds. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He slowed his vehicle and whipped into the driveway. His vehicle bobbed over the ruts in the driveway. He pushed open the door and ran to Emma crouched on the porch, her dress pooled around her legs. She held her faceless doll to her nose. Tears tracked down her cheeks.
Spencer clutched the little girl’s arms. “Where’s Hannah? Where’s Sarah?” His words squeezed out from a too-tight throat.
Emma’s watery eyes lifted to the barn.
“In the barn?”
Too frightened, Emma nodded.
“Okay.” Spencer watched the black plume of smoke billowing up from the barn. The smell of charred wood made him cough. “Stay right here, Emma. The firemen will be here soon.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Spencer ran to his cruiser and popped the trunk. He grabbed a blanket and raced toward the fire.
A prayer came spontaneously to mind.
Dear Lord, please guide me. Let me find Sarah and Hannah safe.
When he reached the barn, the door yawned open. He pressed the blanket to his face and surged forward, holding his breath. Then his training kicked in. He dropped to all fours where the air wasn’t so thick with smoke. He crawled into the barn, the rough feel of hay cutting into his hands.
Fear and panic like he’d never known propelled him forward. He didn’t dare yell Sarah or Hannah’s name for fear it would be his last breath.
Gloom and darkness pushed in on him from all sides. Heat and panic tightened the collar of his shirt.
Keep moving.
Something, a knowledge, a knowing, made him turn right. Splayed across the barn floor was Hannah. A beam blocked the view of her face. But it had to be Hannah.
He pushed forward and shoved the beam off Hannah’s lifeless body. Terror seized his heart.
An image of Daniel flashed in his mind’s eye. Too late; he was too late. Again.
He stared, frozen. Every mistake he had ever made in his past weighed down on him. Would this be the end?
In the flash of a moment, he thought of terrified Emma. Alone with her doll. Mustering a strength he didn’t know he had, he drew in a shallow breath near the barn floor. It smelled of hay and charred wood and burning hair.
Spencer slid his hands under Hannah’s body, one arm under her legs, the other around her shoulders. He plucked her off the ground and ran toward the exit holding his breath. When he was a safe distance from the barn, he laid Hannah on the grass.
He pushed Hannah’s hair away from her face and leaned in close to listen for a breath. Over the roar of the fire and the cacophony of the rescue vehicles, he wondered if he imagined her breath. He pressed his fingers to the pulse point on her neck. Thank you, Lord. “Hannah, Hannah.” He gently tapped her cheek.
Dear Lord, please let Hannah be okay.
He grabbed her arm and felt her pulse again.
The first hint of relief started pumping through his veins.
“Hannah,” he said. “Hannah.”
Hannah’s eyelids fluttered. Hope blossomed in his chest.
A sputtering cough erupted from her throat. Spencer wrapped his arm around her shoulder and eased her to a seated position. Tears tracked down her dirty cheeks as she coughed and sucked in huge gulps of fresh air.
A firefighter ran to their side with his emergency kit. “Anyone else inside?”
Hannah’s eyes grew wide. She struggled to stand, but Spencer made her stay on the ground. “You need to stay put.”
“Sarah.” She coughed again. “I can’t find Sarah.”
* * *
Hannah couldn’t catch a breath. She coughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. Struggling against Spencer’s firm hold, she tried to stand. She had to find Sarah.
The heat from the burning barn singed her cheeks. “I can’t find Sarah.” She covered her mouth with her hands, and grief nearly cut off what little breath she could draw into her lungs. “Sarah, she’s nine...” She clawed at the firefighter’s turnout gear. “You have to find her. She went into the barn looking for her cat. Please...”
The firefighter pulled away from her and patted Spencer on the shoulder. “Move her back.” Then to Hannah, “We’ll find your little girl.”
“Please...”
The firefighter ran over to the other firefighters and gave them instructions she couldn’t hear. But based on his urgent gesturing, it must have been that a child was trapped in the barn.
Spencer’s hand felt heavy on her back. She wanted to fling it away and run into the barn herself. Find Sarah.
She’d die if something happened to Sarah. She had promised Ruthie she’d make sure her children were safe. An image of little Emma popped into her brain.
“Where’s Emma?”
“She’s fine.” Spencer’s voice was calm despite the chaos swirling around them. He pointed beyond the fire truck. A young female firefighter was crouched next to Emma. It looked like she was introducing a teddy bear to her doll.
A fist of grief tightened Hannah’s throat. “Mem...”
“She’s okay, too.”
Hannah’s gaze drifted to her mother standing in her doorway, clutching something to her chest.
Hannah bowed her head, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had let her sister down.
She had let poor, sweet Sarah down.
A firefighter came back over to them. He opened a huge medical kit, much like the toolbox her father used to have. “Ma’am, I’d like to look at that head injury.”
Absentmindedly, Hannah touched her forehead and pulled her hand away. Blood and soot marred her fingertips. “I’m fine.”
Oh, she was far from fine. She lifted her arm; the effort sent a sharp pain through her upper arm. “Find my niece. Please. I’m fine.”
The firefighter made eye contact with Spencer, who nodded. The firefighter walked away, but left his kit next to them.
Hannah struggled to her feet with Spencer’s help. “I have to do something. I can’t just stand here. Sarah’s—” An explosive cracking sound filled the air. The roof of the barn collapsed into itself. A spray of sparks filled the air.
Terror pumped through her veins. Sarah had been her responsibility. Hers...
She pressed her palms together and touched her lips. Please, Lord, bring Sarah safely back to me.
The firefighters aimed their hoses at the fire. She turned toward Spencer, who gathered her into an embrace. She pulled away from him.
“Walk around that side of the barn.”
Spencer narrowed his gaze at her.
“Please, I’ll go around the other way. I have to do something.”
Hannah strode around the barn. The acrid smell of burning wood filled her lungs. “Sarah!” she screamed. “Sarah!”
A quiet whimper caught her attention. She slowed her pace. The heat from the barn only ten feet away warmed her face. She stopped and strained her ears against the roaring fire, the fire hoses and the shouting of the firefighters.
“Sarah!”
Another whimper.
Hannah spun around and faced the trees. She ran to the edge. The fallen branches scraped her bare feet, her bare legs.
Hannah cupped her hands and shouted her niece’s name again. She s
quinted into the dark shadows. Suddenly, a darker shadow rushed at her from the trees.
Sarah!
The child flung herself at Hannah, wrapping her arm around her waist and burying her head into her side. Tears blurred Hannah’s vision as she smoothed the little girl’s hair. She bent over and kissed Sarah’s forehead. She smelled of fire and earth. And heaven. Pumpkin meowed in Sarah’s other arm.
“Oh, sweetie,” Hannah said into Sarah’s hair, “are you okay?”
Sarah nodded.
A firm hand touched her shoulder. Hannah glanced up, and Spencer smiled down on her. “Is she okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“I think so.”
Hannah reluctantly pried the little girl’s arm from her waist and crouched to look at her. Flames danced in her terrified eyes. “I—” the little girl swallowed hard, her gaze drifting to the fire “—I wanted to see Pumpkin. I figured you made her go stay in the barn.”
Hannah cupped Sarah’s cheek. “Oh, sweetie. I didn’t. She must have gotten out herself somehow. Did you go in the barn when it was on fire?” Scolding her now seemed ridiculous when everyone’s emotions were running high.
Sarah shook her head. “The barn wasn’t on fire. I found Pumpkin next to a hay bale. I started to get her when I heard a man yelling. Pumpkin ran past me and into the woods.” She stroked the kitten’s head. “I had to find her.”
“You heard a man yelling?” Spencer asked.
Sarah nodded again.
“Did you see him?”
“No,” Sarah said in a very soft voice. Her lips quivered.
Hannah rubbed her hand up and down her arm. “Did you hear what the man said?”
“He said, ‘Get.’” Spencer and Hannah locked gazes. Tingles of fear rained down on her like hot sparks from the fire.
“Is that all?” Hannah forced a smile, trying to draw the child out.
“I don’t know...” Sarah whispered. Hannah smoothed her hand over her niece’s soft hair in much the same way as Sarah stroked her beloved kitten’s head.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”
Spencer wrapped his arm around Hannah’s shoulder, and the three of them walked to the other side of the barn. Her mother stood on her porch with Emma.
