Clean Romance: Loves of Tomorrow (Contemporary New Adult and College Amish Western Culture Romance) (Urban Power of Love Billionaire Western Collection Time Travel Short Stories)

by Unknown

  “I’m really sorry to hear that son. What’s your friend’s name?”

  “She is called Femke, Femke Johannsen.”

  As Detective Price listens, Fons continues, “You should see her sir. She is kind in spirit, gentle with her siblings, and she loves her mother and father dearly.”

  “Really, do you guys talk about that kind of thing a lot?”

  No, you can see it on her face and in her gestures that her family is everything to her. And so beautiful is my Femke that you almost could not bear to look at her for too long without feeling unworthy to even cast your eyes upon her beauty.”

  Price, being a detective, observes that Fons is talking about the deceased girl in the present tense. A clear sign that he has not come to terms with her death. And, that Fons, in particular, is one of only a few Amish who is hoping against hope that the girl is still living and working among the English and didn’t perish in the fire.

  “How can you be sure that she was in the house last night? Many people that I’ve talked to say that she was expected home yesterday, but no one actually saw her in the home or the community. It’s possible that she was delayed in coming home for some reason,” offered Detective Price.

  At hearing this glimmer of hope that Femke may still be alive, Fons stops crying and begins to think clearly. The detective could see the wheels turning in his head as Fons puzzles through the possibilities. Then Fons speaks, after a long silence.

  “Detective Price, many people think that Femke will decide to live an English life and not accept baptism. But, that is because they do not know Femke as I do.”

  “What makes you think she’s come back to the Amish community?”

  “I have never spoken more than the greeting of the day to her, but I watch and I listen.”

  Fons continues saying, “The men in the community see her as a dangerous temptress.”

  “Has she been with many men in the community?”

  “No, Femke is a good girl.”

  “Then why would they think these things about her?”

  “It is because the very sight of this pure and innocent beauty brings out their own evil and lust to possess her; if even for just a moment. It has nothing to do with who Femke is.”

  “Who is Femke then?”

  “She is no succubus living among us. It is the men of our community with lust and evil in their hearts who project that onto the girl and call her beguiling. And the women are no better,” Fons says—spitting the words into the ether as if they leave a foul taste in his mouth.

  “Has Femke had any problems with any of the women in the community?”

  “I don’t think so, but the women shun her and talk of conceit, immodesty, and pride; that the girl does not display. It is they who feel inferior in her presence and assume that she looks down upon them. They take her quiet and shy demeanor to mean that she thinks herself too good to converse with them. But I see the truth.”

  “And what is the truth about Femke that you say and no one else does?

  “I see the real Femke—I see a lovely girl, inside and out, who suffers in silence and loneliness, within her community. And I—I do nothing to help her.”

  “People have a way of sensing who the good and evil hearted folks are. I bet Femke knew that you had a soft spot in your heart for her, but why didn’t you speak up?”

  “I was afraid that she would not want me, but that was all about to change. I was prepared to tell her, to tell her father, that I love her and want to marry her. Oh Dear God please give me the chance to see Femke again,” Fons begs, with hands clasped in prayer and eyes, cast up to the heavens.

  Detective Price is moved by Fons’ words, but he is also intrigued by having caught wind of a potential motive for the fire. He asks Fons, “Do you know where Femke’s working Fons, no one else seems to know?”

  “Yes, she works at the panaderia—Spanish bakery on South Prince Street. She is living with the owner, just above the store. Her father said so once when I was helping him move some heavy timber that he is using to repair a house on his property.”

  After a short pause, Fons then tells Detective Price, “The house is 110-years-old I think he said. It belonged to his grandfather from generations ago. He planned to give it to his first child that marries, as a wedding gift. It is a secret, and I felt honored to be asked to help him.”

  “Can you show me the house?”

  “It is the white house in desperate need of repair over there,” Fons points to a structure just behind the now charred field.

  Detective Price firmly holds the back of Fons’ neck, the way that a father would do with his son when he wants to convey deep emotion and offer strength. Price looks into Fons’ eyes and says, “Son, you’re a good man and Femke will be a lucky girl to have you.”

  “It is kind of you to say so Detective Price, I pray that I can tell her how I feel.”

  “If she is still on this earth, I’ll find her and protect her. I give you my word. If she has passed on, I promise you I’ll find her killer. She knows how you feel son, she hears you—I pray that you get to tell her face-to-face very soon.”

  With those words, Fons’ heart soars and his soul feels lighter knowing that Femke will be found and protected, or she and her family will receive justice for this horrible deed. Fons offers a nod of acknowledgment to Detective Price who extends a business card to him.

  “What’s your name son?”

  “Alfons Aldenkamp, Sir, but everyone calls me Fons.”

  “Fons, if you think of anything else or just need to talk call me anytime. How can I reach you?” Detective Price asks.

  “Do you see the gray house just over there?” Fons points off in the distance to a house that’s located at the Johannsen’s 6:00 o’clock position and about 300-feet away. I live there and I work at the English fire station on Morgan Street,” replied Fons.

  “Okay,” Detective Price says, then the two men part ways. Each deep in thought about where Femke could be and both hoping that she did not come home as planned.

  *****

  Martha Trujillo Garcia is standing in front of the flat screen television mounted on the wall for patrons who want to stay and have a cafecito with their freshly baked Mexican pastry. She and her husband, Carmello Garcia, have owned the South Prince Street Panaderia for 12-years now.

  “Senora Garcia, I have bagged and boxed the last batch of 50 Kings Cakes. I think I shall straighten the pastry in the display case now,” the younger of the two shop girls says. The older girl, the Garcia’s daughter, is busy counting the register before the end of her shift. There are two men and three women in the back busily preparing delicious breads and pastries.

  “Okay sweetie, you do that,” Mrs. Garcia says without looking away from the television. The shop girl only giggles at how transfixed by the television her patronais. Television is not very interesting to the girl. She prefers reading books over TV any day.

  The news reporter is going on about a fire on an Amish farm where five family members perished, including four children. “Ay Dios Mio!” Mrs. Garcia says as she makes the sign of the cross in front of her body, like a good catholic woman. When she hears the Johannsen family name, she drops the tray full of coffee cups, saucers, and spoons that she was carrying. The crashed causes everyone to run to the front of the shop.

  “What is it, Mi Amor? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” says Carmello Garcia.

  Mrs. Garcia only turns to Femka and says, “Sweetheart, are you a part of the Johannsen family that lives on a farm in this county?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Femke replies.

  “How many brothers and sisters you have, Mija?”

  “I have five Senora. Why do you ask?” Femke says, with the mask of fear unfolding onto her face.

  Martha stands to her feet, leaving the dishes on the floor where she dropped them. The young Amish girl standing before her has been living with her family above the store for three months now. And, she has a great love for he
r little “Blanca”, as they’ve begun to affectionately call her.

  She takes both of the girls’ hands into hers and says very slowly, “There has been a big fire at your house. Your home is no more. Your mother was hurt in the fire and she is in the hospital, but the reporter says that she was not hurt badly. I can take you to her,” Martha says calmly.

  Martha conveniently leaves out the rest of the details, feeling that it is best for Femke to be among her people before she hears the rest of the gruesome news. Martha and Carmello move Femke hurriedly to the car. Martha fills Carmello in on the rest of the details in their native Spanish language.

  “Pobresita!” Carmello says as he glances a look at Femke, through the rear-view-mirror, in the back seat of his Honda Civic. He knows that sweet innocence is about to be snatched away from the child that he has come to love. Mr. Garcia drives toward the hospital with trepidation, not knowing what they will find.

  *****

  Arriving at the hospital, the three walk quickly to the information desk. “Good afternoon, I am looking for my mother, Ilsa Johannsen, please,” Femke softly says to an older man of Asian descent.

  He returns her soft speech, and with compassion in his eyes, he says, “Your mother is on the fifth floor, room 527A. You can find the room or you need a little help?”

  “I can find it, sir, thank you,” Femke says softly.

  Before Femke could turn to walk away, the gentleman stands up, looks Femke in the eyes, and with a smile says, “You are stronger than you think! You can surmount any obstacle! If you keep the faith!”

  Femke, unsure what he means, simply says, “Thank you, sir.” Then turns and walks away, with the two Garcias in tow like so many little ducklings following their mother. The trio easily finds Ilsa’s room.

  “Mrs. Garcia, will you go in with me to see my mother? I do not know why, but I am afraid of what I shall find in there,” says Femke.

  “Yes, of course, Mija,” Mrs. Garcia says, as she takes Femke’s soft, sweaty hand and leads her into her mother’s private hospital room.

  The lights are dim and the curtain around her bed is drawn. The last vestige of the day’s sunlight is blocked by heavy drapes. Femke feels as if she’s being led into a cave. The pair stops at the right side of Ilsa’s bed. Femke looks to Mrs. Garcia to tell her what to do next. Mrs. Garcia nods her head a single time, and Femke seems to instinctively know she must open the curtain for herself.

  Inch-by-inch, the curtain slides open but her mother does not stir. Noticing this only adds to Femke’s anxiety over what she will find lying in her mother’s hospital bed. Finally, the ethereal, netted curtain, with a peach and seafoamgreen bottom, yields to reveal Isla’s beautiful face. Femke and Martha breathe a collective sigh of relief over not seeing a badly burned body before them.

  Femke releases Mrs. Garcia’s grip and takes Ilsa’s hand, “Mother,” she says softly. And, for the first time since they entered the room, Ilsa acknowledges their presence by opening her eyes. Ilsa looks into Femke’s face and recognizes her own.

  As the wave of recognition floods over her, her countenance goes from crazed and dazed to normal. Femke recognizes her mother’s facial expression and mirrors the same love and happiness back at her.

  “Femke, Femke you have come, my sweetheart. I am so happy to see you, my baby.”

  “I am so happy to see you too mother. How do you feel? Where is the rest of the family?”

  Hesitant to tell Femke the dreadful news, Ilsa keeps the conversation light and happy for just a moment longer.

  “You look fine in your English dress, you do, Femke,” Ilsa says with a smile as she takes a visual account of her daughter. Realizing that her husband shall never get to see this image of their girl, Ilsa’s thoughts go to a dark place in her mind.

  Suddenly, Femke sees a thunderstorm of emotion roll across her mother’s face, followed by a verbal deluge of information too horrible to be understood.

  “Femke, they are all gone, they perished in the fire, Ilsa cries, choking back the scream building in the back of her throat.

  “What do you mean they are gone mother, who is gone? Femke asks in disbelief, praying that she is not understanding her mother.

  “Your father tried to save the older boys, Felix and Filip. He got to the room and I saw them, I saw them all running downthe hall to me so I continued to run toward the door.”

  “How did you get out of the house and leave the others behind mother? Femke pleaded, trying to hold back judging the woman unfairly.

  “When I turned to look back at them again, I could see your Papa and the boys trapped by fire. Febe fled from my side, ran through the flames, and jumped into her Papa’s arms. She would not leave him, the brave junger (little girl).”

  With tears in Femke’s eyes, her mother continues with her account of the fire, “I had Faas in my arms and Frits clinging to my night dress. How could I stop to help my children and husband with these little ones in need of my protection?”

  “You could not mother, you had to get the boys to safety.”

  “Yes, so I ran with my babies through grass of fire to the safety of the pitch-blacknight.” Ilsa then moves the blankets covering her legs to reveal thigh-high bandages where she has been burned.

  “My husband,” she said clutching at her heart, “your father and our precious babies all burned, burned in that inferno.”

  “No, mother, please no!” Femke pleaded with her mother to stop talking, to tell her that her words were not true. Femke could feel something inside her heart wither and die in this moment.

  Ilsa began to sob into the belly of Femke’s light-blue, wool coat. Femke, dazed by what she just heard, turns to look at Mrs. Garcia, as if for a translation of her mother’s words. Mrs. Garcia, pale with horror, seems to grasp the situation firmly and picks up Femke’s hand again to give her support. “You are not alone,” Mrs. Garcia was silently shouting with every ounce of her soul.

  But, Mrs. Garcia’s loving grasp is offered too late. Shocked, Femke crumples to the floor, fainting out cold. The sight of her daughter’s falling body and recounting the nightmare from the day before sent Ilsa back into a state of hysteria.

  Having heard the commotion, a nurse is already running into Ilsa’s room to give aide before Mrs. Garcia could move. Seeing both mother and daughter in such a state, the nurse pushes the nurse call-button for backup.

  Ilsa is sedated and Femke is revived. By the time the situation is under control and Femke is fully briefed on her mother’s condition by the medical team, Detective Price is already alerted and on his way to the hospital. As Femke sits in a recliner near her now sleeping mother’s bed, Mrs. Garcia offers the girl comfort.

  “Femke, I know you are shocked and afraid right now, but God does not give us more than we can handle. You can get through this. You have to be strong for your mother and your brothers. They will need you now. Can you do this?”

  Nodding her head, Femke finds her voice and responds by saying, “Yes I will be strong for them.”

  “Good, and I will be strong for you. You can lean on me Femke, and God will send others to help you. You are not alone.” Femke could only manage to bury her face in Mrs. Garcia’s shoulder as they waited to be escorted to an interview room. The two women had been told that the investigation into the fire is well underway.

  *****

  “There is an English man walking up to our porch husband.”

  “An Englishman, at our house?” Garret Aldenkamp says. Tugging at his suspenders, he walks cautiously to his front door.

  Hearing the raised voices of his parents discussing an Englishman, Fons heads to the door to see what’s going on.

  “Good afternoon sir, my name is Detective Price, I’m investigating the fire at the Johannsen place last night and…”

  “I know nothing about such doings, leave us alone,” Mr. Aldenkamp abruptly interrupted, just as his son Fons walks up behind him and stands in the doorway.

  “Yes sir, I didn�
��t mean to imply that you were involved, I only came to find your son, the firefighter,” the detective replies.

  Then the detective sees Fons and says, “Hello Fons, I’m sorry to bother you at home but there has been a development and I could really use your firefighting knowledge in this case. Would you take a ride to the station with me and lend your expertise on this matter?”

  Understanding that the detective doesn’t want his parents to know what they discussed earlier, and appreciating his discreet methods, Fons only responds by saying, “Yes, sir, I am happy to help where I can. Let me get my coat and hat.”

  Mr. Aldenkamp and the detective stand there in abject silence until Fons returns. He neither offers the detective a seat, a hot or cold beverage, or the courtesy of smalltalk.

  “Father, mother, I will see you later, please do not hold supper for me, I may be late coming home.”

  As they walk to the car, Detective Price says, “I hope what I said was okay, I didn’t think you wanted anyone in the Amish community to know that we’ve been talking about Amish affairs. I thought it was best that I imply that you were talking with me about the fire. And who better to spread that rumor than your loving parents?”

  “Very nicely done Detective Price, I appreciate you not lying to my father, but keeping our secrets at the same time. You have taught me a new skill,” Fons says with a chuckle, which the two men share.

  The Amish firefighter and the English detective pass the short drive getting to know each other better and building rapport. Detective Price knows that he’s about to deliver quite a shock to the young man and hopes to do it gently. He feels that Fons is going to play a crucial role in getting Femke to open up to him about any potential motive to harm her family.

  The two men arrive at the hospital and before exiting the car, Detective Price turns to Fons, lays a hand on his shoulder and says, “Fons, I need your help.”

  Fons, sensing what’s to come, steels himself for the task of talking with Ilsa. He goes on to say, “Femke is alive, she didn’t go home to the farm as planned.