by Marta Perry
“I couldn’t tell them that—”
“Yah, you could. And when we get to the shop, you can call Jamison and tell him what happened tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she said quickly. “Please, Noah, I can’t. All I want to do is lie down.”
He might have known he’d melt the instant she said his name. How could he insist? She must be exhausted, and the last thing she needed was to be questioned by the police.
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But first thing in the morning, then, for sure.” He couldn’t possibly go off home and leave her and Jessie alone and unprotected. “And in the meantime, I’m putting a cot up against the wall on my side of the building.” Not that he intended to sleep. “If I hear a sound, I’ll be coming if I have to break in.”
“Not just any sound, please. Aunt Jessie snores like a freight train sometimes, although she might not sleep much after she hears about this.”
If she was able to make what almost amounted to a joke, that was an encouraging thing, but he needed to be sure she was taking her safety seriously.
“Don’t, Joanna. Can you imagine what it was like when it kept getting darker and you didn’t come? I could hear Jessie pacing the floor, and I knew just how she felt. When I told her I was coming to look for you, she didn’t even argue.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned toward him impulsively. “I promise I won’t go anywhere alone.” She fumbled with something. “Here, take this.”
“What is it?” He felt cold metal against his hand.
“It’s the extra key to the dead bolt. I think even Aunt Jessie would agree that it’s a good idea for you to be able to get in if there’s an emergency.”
“Denke.” Thank you for trusting me. He couldn’t see her face, but when he reached out, she clasped his hand. This time he wasn’t letting go, not until he had her safe at home, if anywhere was safe.
Palm against palm, he felt a connection he couldn’t deny. He didn’t want to. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. But what if...
He couldn’t get away from that what-if. Even if Joanna returned his feelings, how could he risk hurting her? He’d like to tell himself that he wasn’t capable of violence, but he remembered how he’d felt when he’d seen the man attacking Joanna. What might he have done if he’d had a weapon in his hand?
He’d been protecting her, but how could he be sure that violence wouldn’t turn against someone else. He knew, only too well, how his father had destroyed the feelings of everyone who cared about him, especially Mamm. He couldn’t bear to think of his brave, smart Joanna wearing the helpless, defeated look his mother had worn, and knowing he was responsible.
But even believing what he did, he couldn’t help holding her hand all the way home.
* * *
ENTERTAINING THE POLICE chief first thing in the morning wasn’t Joanna’s idea of an appropriate start to the day, but there’d been nothing even slightly normal in what had happened in the past week. At least she’d had wits enough to suggest he come the back way to their apartment, rather than driving up to the front door and attracting the attention of everyone on Main Street.
Aunt Jessie didn’t even bat an eye when Jamison came up the back stairs, followed by Noah. She set mugs on the table. “Coffee’s ready. I’ll see to the shop until you’re finished.”
Jamison barely waited until she’d disappeared downstairs before he started. He pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down solidly and planted his hands on the table.
“All right. Now, tell me all the things you left out when you called me.”
Joanna lifted the coffeepot and poured into three mugs, trying to organize her thoughts and feeling as if she needed a few more hours of sleep. Wordlessly, Noah distributed the mugs, adding the cream and sugar she had ready on the counter.
“I think I told you everything on the phone,” she said, taking the chair opposite Jamison. “I was driving home from the farm when I heard the car coming behind me. He seemed to slow down, so I was sure he saw the buggy. Then all of a sudden he sped up, coming right at me. I pulled the mare over to the right, hoping to get out of his way, but he clipped the side of the buggy and sent us into the ditch.”
She stopped for breath, knowing she’d blurted it all out in a rush, wishing to get rid of it. Reliving it made her shake inside. She sensed Noah moving closer to her.
Jamison frowned. “You should have called me as soon as it happened.”
Keeping silent seemed the only possible answer. If he didn’t understand why she hadn’t, explaining it wouldn’t help.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “What was the vehicle like?”
She looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it.”
“Joanna, you knew it was behind you. It hit you. You had to have seen something.” He sounded as if he was trying not to snap, but she knew it was frustration speaking.
“I heard it behind me. I saw the lights. Then I was toppling into the ditch with the buggy on top of me.”
Noah moved even closer to her, so that he was standing behind her chair.
“Right. Sorry if I snapped. But I want you to think it over calmly. You might have had a sense of the size and shape, right? Was it a truck? A pickup? A sedan?”
“A car, not a truck.” She wasn’t sure why she was sure of it. Maybe she’d seen more than she thought.
“Color?”
She shook her head. “I have the impression it was dark, but I can’t be sure.”
“You know how dark it is along that road,” Noah put in. “And there’s not much traffic at that time of night.”
“No. But what about the other car that came along? These people who stopped to help you. I’ll talk to them, but do you think they could have seen the car?”
“I...I don’t really know. It seemed like forever that I was lying there wondering if Princess was hurt and how I was going to get out, but it might not have been more than a few minutes.”
The memory flooded back too vividly, and her voice trembled. Noah’s hand grasped her shoulder, and she felt warmth and strength flow into her.
She couldn’t turn to look up at him, but she put her hand up to touch his, drawing comfort. Jamison looked from one to the other of them, but suddenly she didn’t care what he was thinking.
“Okay, just a few more questions,” he said as if answering an unspoken complaint. “Where is the buggy now?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. It’s either still at Aaron’s place or Daad may have picked it up.”
Jamison gritted his teeth. “How about calling to find out?”
“Yah, of course I will. But he may not be near the phone shanty.”
Was he holding back a complaint about people who didn’t have a phone in their house? She wouldn’t be surprised.
“Never mind. I’ll find it. I’m going out there as soon as we finish. I need to see that buggy before anyone starts working on it.”
“Is it that important?” She didn’t see why, but he was obviously determined.
“Very,” he said shortly, and then seemed to feel he needed to explain. “We may be able to find out what color the car was that way. We can analyze any scrapes of paint from the vehicle.” He frowned down at the table. “Joanna, I want you to think back to when you left the farm. Did you see any car pulled over, maybe sitting in one of the farm lanes around there?”
She tried to send her thoughts back to those moments, but she knew it was no good. She’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts about the family that she probably wouldn’t have noticed anything that wasn’t right in front of her.
“I’m sorry. There was nothing that I could see. But I wasn’t looking, except at the road.”
“I didn’t really expect you had, but just in case.” He took a gulp of the coffee before he went on. “What about anything that might have passed you between
home and the place where you were hit?”
She brightened at finally having something positive to contribute. “There was another car. It passed me, going away from town, not long before I was hit.”
“What did it look like?” He leaned forward, intent.
Joanna shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I didn’t really notice. Dark-colored,” she added before he could jump on her with that question.
Jamison seemed resigned to her lack of knowledge about cars this time. He sat quite still, staring down at the tabletop, apparently deep in thought.
“If that’s all...” Noah began.
Ignoring him, Jamison shook his head. Finally, he looked up. “I wasn’t sure about telling you this, but I’ve been back and forth with police in Philadelphia.” He studied Joanna’s face. “You’re sure you and your folks don’t know anything about Meredith’s family?”
She’d feared, all along, that he’d come back to her family. She had to protect them, but how?
“No. How could we?”
Noah’s hand tightened warningly on her shoulder.
“Come on, Joanna. You came from somewhere. Your blood says you’re related to Meredith. I don’t want to question your parents—”
“Then don’t.” She rushed into speech. “They can’t help you, and if you upset my mother, I don’t know what might happen to her.”
Jamison’s expression softened. “Then you tell me what you know. I’m not looking to cause needless grief. Or to make my neighbors the center of a big newspaper story. But I have to know.”
“He’s right,” Noah said softly. “You’ll have to tell him.”
“But they don’t know anything that will help you. My birth mother left me with them, asking them to take care of me. That’s all they know about her.”
“Where did this happen? Here?”
“No. They were on their way to visit my aunt. Somewhere in Ohio. That’s all I know. I’m not even sure they remember. They were stuck there by a snowstorm, and I was left at the door of their motel room with a note.”
“Why theirs? Had they talked to the woman?”
She shook her head. “No, they hadn’t, but she must have seen them. Maybe she thought that an Amish family would be a good place for her baby.” She hesitated, but the rest should be said. “My mother was just recovering after losing a baby. When she saw me and read the note, she felt as if it was an answer to prayer. That’s all they know, so there’s no use in asking them.”
* * *
IF JAMISON WAS DISAPPOINTED, it didn’t show. “I won’t say anything to them unless I have to, but there has to be some connection between that woman and the Bristow family. If we knew what, it might explain at least some of what’s going on.”
Relieved that he didn’t pursue the question of her parents, she ventured a question. “You said you talked to the police about Meredith...”
“Yeah, right. Maybe it’s best if you know. Seems like the Bristow family is well-off.”
Without thinking, Joanna nodded, making him zero in on her. “You’re not surprised. How did you know?”
“I might not know fashion, but I do understand fabric. Everything she had on was high quality. It had to have been expensive.”
Was he looking at her with suspicion? Uneasiness crawled along her nerves.
“Any woman would have noticed it,” she added, wondering if she was making it worse.
Jamison gave a short nod before going on. “Apparently, when she turns twenty-one, Meredith comes into a sizable trust fund. That’s in another six months.”
“You think that has something to do with what’s been happening?” Noah asked the question, and Joanna thought the pressure of his hand was telling her to stay silent.
“I don’t know, but most of the time crimes are motivated by greed. If she could remember what happened, she could tell us, assuming it wasn’t just an accident.”
That brought her to attention in a hurry. “The man in her hospital room wasn’t an accident, whether her fall was or not.”
Without responding, he shrugged. “Are you going to see her today?”
“I hadn’t even thought of it yet. Not right now, that’s for sure. Maybe later.”
“Those other relatives we located checked in at the motel out on the highway this morning. Maybe she’ll remember something when she sees them. When the other cousin was here, she was still so unresponsive that it didn’t help. If you can get up there by early afternoon, you can get a sense of how she reacts to them.”
“Any of the nurses could do that,” Noah put in before she could respond. “Why does Joanna have to be involved?” He was so close behind her that Joanna felt the warmth of his body. She had to stop noticing things like that, but she couldn’t.
For a moment she thought Jamison would ignore him, but then he answered. “Joanna is involved,” he said mildly. “The Bristow woman will say more to her than to anyone... It’s almost like she feels a bond, isn’t it?”
Joanna’s hands clenched in her lap, but the chief got up as if he was finished.
“I’ll talk to you later—” he began, but Noah interrupted him.
“What about Joanna? She needs protection, too.”
Jamison reddened. “You think I wouldn’t like to have an officer watching her every minute? But she wouldn’t want it and, anyway, who would it be? As it is, I’ve got auxiliary and fire police pulling extra duty, as little good as they are in this situation. Directing traffic, that’s what they should be doing.”
“It’s all right,” she broke in. “I don’t want anyone. I’ll be careful.”
“No more jaunts out to the farm by yourself, mind you,” Jamison said. “If you have to go somewhere, tell me, and I’ll find someone to drive you. Otherwise, stay home. Until we know what’s behind all of this, we can’t take chances.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She shivered, remembering.
“Good girl. I’ll send someone to drive you to the hospital at about one. You take care, and, Noah, it wouldn’t do any harm if you kept an eye on her, too.”
“I intend to.” Noah’s hands tightened on her shoulders. It felt...and sounded...like a promise.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JOANNA FELT HERSELF sag in her chair once Jamison had gone. How much longer would this go on, and what would the end of it be? She couldn’t even guess any longer. She had completely lost control of her life, it seemed. Her own kitchen, the room she and Aunt Jessie had painted a sunny yellow and furnished with a table and chairs they’d picked up at an auction, no longer seemed like a safe haven.
Noah dumped her cooling coffee and poured another cupful, setting it in front of her. “Get that down you. It’ll make you feel better.”
She took a sip. “I don’t think coffee will cure what ails me right now.” She said aloud what she’d just been thinking. “I thought I knew where my life was going. I didn’t.”
Noah sat down next to her. “None of us knows that, not for sure. If we think we do, we’re just kidding ourselves.”
The note of regret in his voice struck her. Was he thinking of his father? Or of the struggle he had just to take care of his mother and the younger boys?
“I suppose you’re right.” She took another swallow of the coffee, feeling its warmth. Noah had been right—it did help a little. She glanced at him, seeing the frowning gaze that he had fixed on the table. “Denke, Noah.”
He darted a questioning look at her.
“For standing by, of course.” She answered the unspoken question. “I just wish we... I could do something more. I feel as if there’s danger all around Meredith, and Jamison is no closer to knowing where it’s coming from.”
“Maybe you ought to worry about yourself. Seems to me you’re at risk, too. Jamison ought to do more to keep you safe.”
“Wouldn’t that look n
ice, an Amish woman being trailed around town by a policeman in uniform?” She couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
“Anything would be better than Jamison doing nothing. Next time this man might try something more dangerous than sending your buggy into the ditch.”
She shivered at the thought. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. If only we knew why.” That question was never far from her. Why?
“Jamison said she belonged to a wealthy family. Money certainly does make people do awful things.”
That was true, but much less so among the Amish. Money couldn’t buy family, or faith, or community.
Noah eyed her thoughtfully. “Are you feeling more worried about her because she’s probably a close relative?”
She took a moment to consider it, not sure she’d totally accepted the idea that Meredith was her kin. “I hope I would feel that way about anyone who was hurt. But maybe there’s some truth to the idea that the relationship makes a difference. I feel...” She let that trail off, not sure she wanted to put her feelings into words.
“What?” Noah seemed intent on getting to the bottom of it. He’d gone from being supportive and protective to questioning like a policeman. “What is it you feel?”
She shrugged, searching for words. “I guess I’m wondering if that’s why I haven’t been like other Amish girls, wanting marriage and a family of my own instead of the business. Maybe I’m different because I wasn’t born Amish.”
“Now that’s ferhoodled.” He was almost sharp with her. “Amish isn’t a matter of bloodlines. It’s how you’re brought up and what you choose. Adopted or not, you’re still yourself.”
He’d leaned forward as he spoke, intent and impassioned, so that she could feel his determination coming at her like a strong wind.
Then, as if suddenly aware of his passion, he drew back. “Sorry. I don’t guess you want my advice. I’d best be going.” He stood up abruptly as if eager to get away.
The thought hurt. How could he go from being so caring and supportive at one moment and then talk as if they were mere acquaintances the next?
