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“I welcome you as the sheriff of Willkommen. You keep the peace so I can live in peace, as well.”
He studied his uncle, seeing the shadows under his eyes and the flash of regret that could not be hidden. “Yet you still question your decision.”
Samuel’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think I’m not at peace?”
“I see it in the set of your jaw and the bent of your shoulders. You carry a heavy load.”
“No heavier than you, my nephew. You still grieve for Rebecca.”
“Yah, and for the mistake I made out of my own pride. Not going to the Englisch hospital when her labor pains started cost Rebecca her life, as well as the life of our child. That is the burden I carry.”
“And the bishop?”
“He says I am forgiven.”
“Yet, what about you, Abram? Can you forgive yourself?”
The sheriff’s eyes pierced the wall Abram had placed around his heart. Three years had passed but the wound was still so raw. A wound he feared would never heal.
Just like Emma’s limp and his good friend Trevor’s tragic death, some mistakes lasted forever.
“God doesn’t exact payment for our wrongdoings, Abram. Remember that.”
“My father would say you are wrong, Samuel.”
“Does your father not have his own burdens?”
Abram smiled weakly. “I was his burden.”
“Perhaps in your youth when you were struggling to find your way, but you remained Amish. That should have brought him comfort.”
Longing to shift the conversation away from the past, Abram said, “You did not come here to talk about my transgressions.”
“You’re right.” Samuel pointed to the mountain road. “Old Man Jacobs said two cars raced down the hill last night. Curtis Idler and my new deputy, Ned Quigley, are talking to him now and trying to get more information.”
Abram turned his gaze to the road. “I am surprised Ezra Jacobs could see anything at night and even more surprised that he would contact the sheriff’s office. As far as I know, he is one of the few Englischers who never installed a phone line.”
“True, but his son, Walt, has been checking in on Ezra and left a cell for him to use in case he needed help.”
“Did he need help last night?” Abram asked.
“Not help, but he was concerned.” Samuel raised his brow. “What about you, Abram? Did you see cars racing down the mountain?”
“Something has happened?”
“One of the cops in the next county found an abandoned car that ran off the road and nearly landed in the river. I’m headed there now. My deputies will join me when they finish talking to Jacobs.”
“The mountain road can be slick and dangerous, yet you question me?”
“I thought you might have seen something. The car was found just over the county line and not far from your property.”
How could Abram forget the man last night who was driving too fast?
“Besides, I had time to kill,” the sheriff confessed. “Bruce Tucker, the chief of the Petersville Police Department, guards his turf like a bulldog. He’ll insist his own officers search the scene before he invites me or any of my deputies on site.”
Abram had heard talk about Tucker being less than cordial. “Chief Tucker does not welcome your help?”
“He does not want anyone’s help. Some folks call him a bensel. Others say he is schmaert like a hund.”
“A silly child or smart like a dog. You have not forgotten the language of your childhood, Samuel.”
“I have not forgotten anything, Abram.” Samuel frowned. “But you didn’t answer my question. Did you see a car on the road last night?”
“Yah. The driver was going fast. I flagged him down and warned him about the bridge.”
“Was anyone else in the car?”
“I saw only one person.”
“Can you describe the driver?”
“The glare of headlights was in my eyes. He leaned out the window, but I could not see his features. He turned the car around and took the fork in the road, heading west.”
“What about the make of car and the license plate?” Samuel pressed.
“A black sedan. I did not think it was important to notice the license plate.”
“Did you check the time?”
“Soon after midnight.”
“Yet you were awake and saw his lights in time to warn him?” Samuel asked.
“Sleep is sometimes not my friend, as you must know.”
His uncle glanced at the house. “What about Emma? Did she see anything?”
“Emma does not have trouble sleeping.”
“Fortunate for her.” The sheriff slapped Abram’s shoulder in farewell before he returned to his car.
As he pulled onto the roadway, Abram climbed the steps of his porch and sighed deeply. He had to find out more about the woman upstairs.
He wanted to know who was after her and why.
* * *
Miriam stared at the tray of food Emma had brought to the guest bedroom. She had tried to eat, but her stomach was queasy and her mind kept flashing back to the smattering of details she could remember about the traffic stop.
In addition to the food, Emma had also provided a clean change of clothes—an Amish dress that she’d pulled from the blanket chest sitting in the corner of the room, along with an apron. Miriam considered herself a jeans-and-sweater type of gal, but the dress fit and she appreciated having something other than a flannel nightgown to wear.
Emma, probably mid-to-late twenties, was a foot shorter than Miriam with a pretty complexion and a sweet smile. She also exuded an abundance of patience as she showed Miriam how to straight-pin the dress at the bodice and waist. Working together, they had subdued Miriam’s somewhat unruly hair and twisted it into a bun.
Spying a number of skeins of yarn along with crochet hooks and knitting needles in the blanket chest and, knowing she needed some outlet for the nervous energy that swelled within her, Miriam had asked if she could use the yarn to make a scarf for her newfound friend.
Emma seemed to appreciate the offer and her eyes sparkled as she lumbered to the door. Miriam couldn’t help but notice the deformed angle of her left foot that caused her to limp.
The Amish woman’s handicap was obvious. Miriam clasped her hands to her heart, wondering about her own wounds, growing up within a dysfunctional family.
Maybe here in the quiet of this Amish home, she would quell the turmoil that had been the norm in her life for far too long. Then she thought of all that had happened and realized she was asking too much. Some scars cut too deep.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her waist and jerked when her finger snagged against the sharp tip of one of the straight pins. A bead of blood surfaced almost instantly. She glanced around the room, looking for a box of tissues. Seeing none, she neared the porcelain pitcher and washbowl on the oak dresser. After pouring water over her finger, she dried her hands on the thick towel and repositioned the pin to prevent another prick.
Footsteps sounded, coming up the stairs. Her heart pounded, expecting Abram to open the door. Confusion had rocked her the last time he had done so. As much as she appreciated him giving her shelter for the night, she didn’t want to face his penetrating eyes and stern gaze.
Miriam had seen the sheriff’s car in the drive. Had Abram mentioned the woman hiding in his house?
The steps drew nearer. A knock at the door. “May I enter?”
His voice was deep, stilted. Did she detect an edge of impatience?
She wrung her hands to calm the trembling that came unbidden. What was wrong with her? She had done nothing wrong.
Again flashes of memories washed over her. Hot tears burned her eyes. She wiped at her cheeks, needing to be clear-headed and alert when she faced this giant of a man. No doubt he would question who she was and why she had stumbled into his life.
Another knock.
She stepped to the door and ever so slowly pulled it open. He stood on the other side, too close. Much too close.
Her breath hitched. She took a step back, needing to distance herself from his bulk and the smell of him that filled her nostrils with a mix of fresh soap and mountain air.
His hair, now neatly brushed back from his forehead, fell to where his beard hugged his square jaw, framing his face and accentuating the crystal blue of his eyes.
He dropped his gaze, taking in the simple dress she wore. Pain swept his face. He swallowed hard. “I will be downstairs. We need to talk.” Without further explanation, he closed the door, his footsteps heavy as he descended the stairs.
She didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not when so much had happened. If only she could find her cell phone. She needed to call Hannah. Her older sister had always known what she wanted, and it hadn’t been to remain in Tennessee with a mother who showed the classic signs of early onset Alzheimer’s.
Miriam needed help and someone to lean on for support.
Abram’s broad shoulders came to mind.
She shook her head. She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust any man, not even the Amish man who had saved her life.
THREE (#ue06aa252-b2ab-588f-8393-180bd5cd8139)
Standing at the kitchen counter, Abram gulped down the last swig of coffee and wondered again about what had brought the mysterious woman to his door.
Should he have told Samuel? Her fear the night before had made Abram hesitant about revealing her presence. Thankfully his uncle had not asked him point-blank about the woman. Abram would not lie, but he need not divulge information that could terrorize her even more.
He placed the mug in the sink and rubbed his temple to still the pressure that had built up over the long hours he had tried to sleep. Seeing the woman wearing Rebecca’s clothing had been a new stab to his heart. Of course, Emma had not realized the effect it would have on him.
The woman needed clothes to wear while her own things were being washed. His sister was shorter than their visitor, so offering Rebecca’s dress had been a practical solution, except for what it had done to his equilibrium.
“You wanted to talk to me?”
He startled at the sound of the woman’s voice and turned to face his guest. “I did not hear you come down the stairs.”
His heart lurched again, seeing her in Rebecca’s dress. He gripped the kitchen counter to steady himself and to make certain he was in the present and not dreaming of his wife yet with another face.
In an attempt to slow his racing heart, he searched for common ground. “The coffee is hot.”
She shook her head. A strand of hair fell over her pale cheek. “I’m full from breakfast.”
“Then you had enough to eat?”
“More than enough. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
“I do not know your name.”
“Miriam,” she quickly replied.
He waited, expecting more. Then, when she failed to respond, he raised his brow. “Should you not have a family name, as well?”
“Of course.” Her face flushed. “It’s Miller.”
“Your father’s name?”
“Actually, it was my mother’s surname.” She paused before adding, “My mother lived in Willkommen as a child. I was headed there to find her sister, but I got lost on the mountain roads. Is the town far?”
“Ten miles at most.”
She took a step closer, her gaze expectant. “Then you might know Annie Miller.”
“I know Eli Miller. His wife’s name is Hattie. Perhaps your aunt has married?”
“I... I...” She faltered. “I don’t know. My mother had only recently mentioned that she had a sister.”
“You should ask more from your mother.”
She wrung her hands. “I could call my sister if I had my phone.”
“Could your phone have dropped from your pocket?” he offered, hoping to soothe her unease.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. What about a computer? I mentioned it upstairs, but you didn’t answer me. Don’t some Amish people use computers for business?”
“I do not have electricity to run a computer, nor a computer. That is not the way I live.”
She held up her hand. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
