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A quick ride in the elevator, a short walk across the hall, and she was in the room. Rachel lay motionless in the high, white hospital bed. Both legs were in casts, and hospital paraphernalia surrounded her.
Light brown hair spread out over a white pillow, dark lashes forming crescents against her cheek. Rachel looked about sixteen, instead of nearly thirty. Her little sister, whom she loved, fought with, bossed, protected. Her throat choked, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled over.
Cal picked up a five-month-old newsmagazine and slumped into a molded plastic chair. The dragons guarding the third floor wouldn’t have let him in, obviously, so he’d just wait until the sister came back down again. Maybe tonight wasn’t the time, but he had a few things he’d like to say to Andrea.
He frowned, uninterested, at the magazine, seeing instead the face of the woman who’d just gone upstairs. On the surface, she’d been much like he’d expected from the things her sister and grandmother had said and from the photo on Katherine’s mantel.
Glossy, urban, well dressed in a rising young executive way, with silky blond hair falling to her collarbones in one of those sleek, tapered cuts that every television newswoman wore now. Eyes like green glass, sharp enough to cut a man if he weren’t careful.
Well, he was a very careful man, and he knew enough not to be impressed by Ms. Andrea Hampton.
Not that her sister or grandmother had ever bad-mouthed her, but the picture had formed clearly enough in his mind from the things they said, and from her absence. Her elderly grandmother and her sister were struggling to get their bed-and-breakfast off the ground, and Ms. Successful Young Executive couldn’t be bothered to leave her high-powered life long enough to help them.
Not his business, he supposed, but despite his intent to live in isolation, he’d grown fond of Katherine and her granddaughter in the time he’d been renting the barn on the Unger estate. He’d thought, when his wanderings brought him to Lancaster County, that he just wanted to be alone with his anger and his guilt. But Katherine, with her understated kindness, and Rachel, with her sweet nature, had worked their way into his heart. He felt a responsibility toward them, combined with irritation that the oldest granddaughter wasn’t doing more to help.
Still, he’d been unjust to accuse her of careless driving. She’d been going the speed limit, no more, and he had seen the flash of her brake lights just before she’d rounded the curve.
Her taillights had disappeared from view, and then he’d heard the shriek of brakes, the crunch of metal, and his heart had nearly stopped. He’d rounded the curve, fearing he’d see a buggy smashed into smithereens, its passengers tossed onto the road like rag dolls.
Thank the good Lord it hadn’t come to that. It had been the car, half on its side in the ditch, which had been the casualty.
Come to think of it, somebody might want to have a talk with young Jonah’s father. The boy had said he’d just pulled out onto the main road from the Mueller farm. He had to have done that without paying much attention—the approaching glow of the car’s lights should have been visible if he’d looked. All his attention had probably been on the pretty girl next to him.
He didn’t think he’d mention that to Andrea Hampton. She might get the bright idea of suing. But he’d drop a word in Abram Yoder’s ear. Not wanting to get the boy into trouble—just wanting to keep him alive.
Giving up the magazine as a lost cause, he tossed it aside and stared into space until he saw the elevator doors swish open again. Andrea came through, shoulders sagging a bit. She straightened when she saw him.
“You didn’t need to wait for me.”
He rose, going to her. “Yes, I did. I have your things in my truck, remember?”
Her face was pale in the fluorescent lights, mouth drooping, and those green eyes looked pink around the edges. He touched her arm.
“You want me to get you some coffee?”
She shook her head, and he had the feeling she didn’t focus on his face when she looked at him. His nerves tightened.
“What is it? Rachel’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”
“They say so.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and then she shook her head, clearing her throat. “I’m sure they’re right, but it was a shock to see her that way. Both of her legs are broken.” A shiver went through her, generating a wave of sympathy that startled him. “And she has a concussion. The doctor I spoke with wouldn’t even guess how long it would be until she’s back to normal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice roughened. Rachel didn’t deserve this. No one did. He could only hope they caught the poor excuse for a human being who’d left her lying by the side of the road. If he were still an attorney, he’d take pleasure in prosecuting a case like that.
Andrea walked steadily toward the exit. Outside, she took a deep breath, pulling the tailored jacket close around her as if for warmth, even though the May night didn’t have much of a bite to it.
“I’ll just get my things and then you can be on your way.” She managed a polite smile in his direction.
“How do you plan to get to your grandmother’s? I called to have your car towed to the Churchville Garage, but I don’t imagine it’ll be drivable very soon.”
She shoved her hair back in what seemed to be a habitual gesture. It fell silkily into place again. “Thank you. I didn’t think about the car. But I’m sure I can get a taxi.”
“Not so easy at this hour. I’ll drive you.” He yanked the door open.
“I don’t want to take you out of your way. You’ve done enough for me already, Mr. Burke.” Her tone was cool. Dismissing.
He smiled. “Cal. And you won’t be taking me out of my way. Didn’t you know? I’m your grandmother’s tenant.”
He rather enjoyed the surprised look on her face. Petty of him, but if she kept in better contact with her grandmother, she’d know about him. Still, he suspected that if he were as good a Christian as he hoped to be, he’d cut her a bit more slack.
“I see. Well, fine then.” She climbed into the truck, the skirt she wore giving him a glimpse of slim leg.
He wasn’t interested in any woman right now, least of all a woman like Andrea Hampton, but that didn’t mean he was dead. He could still appreciate beautiful, and that’s what Andrea was, with that pale oval face, soft mouth and strong jawline. Come to think of it, she’d gotten the stubborn chin from her grandmother, who was as feisty a seventy-some-year-old as he’d met in a long time.
She didn’t speak as he drove out of the hospital lot. He didn’t mind. God had been teaching him patience in the past year or so, something he’d never thought of before as a virtue. He suspected she’d find it necessary to break the silence sooner than he would.
Sure enough, they’d barely hit the highway when she stirred. “You said you were my grandmother’s tenant. Does that mean you’re living in the house?” Her hands moved restlessly. “Or inn, I guess I should say, given Grams and Rachel’s project.”
She didn’t approve, then. He could hear it in her voice.
“I rent the barn from your grandmother. The newer one, behind the house. I’ve been there for six months now, and in the area for nearly a year.”
Healing. Atoning for his mistakes and trying to get right with God, but that was something he didn’t say to anyone.
“The barn?” Her voice rose in question. “What do you want with the barn? Do you mean you live there?”
He shrugged. “I fixed up the tack room for a small apartment. Comfortable enough for one. I run my business in the rest of it.”
“What business?” She sounded suspicious.
He was tempted to make something up, but he guessed she’d had enough shocks tonight. “I design and make wood furniture, using Amish techniques. If you pick up any wood shavings on your clothes, that’s why.”
“I see.” The tone reserved judgment. “Grams never mentioned it to me.”
“Well, you haven’t been around much, have you?”
He caught the flash of anger in her face, even keeping his eyes on the road.
“I speak with my grandmother and my sister every week, and they came to stay with me at Easter, not that it’s any of your concern.”
They were coming into the village now, and he slowed. There wasn’t much traffic in Churchville, or even many lights on, at this hour. The antique shops and quilt stores that catered to tourists were long since closed.
He pulled into the drive of the gracious, Federal-style Unger mansion, its Pennsylvania sandstone glowing a soft gold in the light from the twin lampposts he’d erected for Katherine. He stopped at the door.
He wouldn’t be seeing much of Andrea, he’d guess. She’d scurry back to her busy career as soon as she was convinced her sister would recover, the anxiety she’d felt tonight fading under the frenzied rush of activity that passed for a life.
“Thank you.” She snapped off the words as she opened the door, grabbing her bags, obviously still annoyed at his presumption.
“No problem.”
She slammed the door, and he pulled away, leaving her standing under the hand-carved sign that now hung next to the entrance to the Unger mansion. The Three Sisters Inn.
TWO
Andrea had barely reached the recessed front door when it was flung open, light spilling out onto the flag-stones. In an instant she was in Grams’s arms, and the tears she didn’t want to shed flowed. They stood half in and half out of the house, and she was ten again, weeping over the mess her parents were making of their lives, holding on to Grams and thinking that here was one rock she could always cling to.
Grams drew her inside, blotting her tears with an unsteady hand, while her own trickled down her cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dree. So glad.”
The childhood nickname, given when two-years-younger Rachel couldn’t say her name, increased the sensation that she’d stepped into the past. She stood in the center hall that had seemed enormous to her once, with its high ceiling and wide plank floor. Barney, Grams’s sheltie, danced around them, welcoming her with little yips.
She bent to pet the dog, knowing Barney wouldn’t stop until she did. “I went to the hospital to see Rachel. They told me you’d already gone home. I should have called you….”
Grams shook her head, stopping her. “It’s fine. Cal phoned me while you were with Rachel.”
“He didn’t say.” Her tone was dry. Nice of him, but he might have mentioned he’d talked to Grams.
“He told me about the accident.” Grams’s arm, still strong and wiry despite her age, encircled Andrea’s waist. Piercing blue eyes, bone structure that kept her beautiful despite her wrinkles, a pair of dangling aqua earrings that matched the blouse she wore—Grams looked great for any age, let alone nearly seventy-five. “Two accidents in one night is two too many.”
That was a typical Grams comment, the tartness of her tone hiding the fear she must have felt.
“Well, fortunately the only damage was to the car.” She’d better change the subject, before Grams started to dwell on might-have-beens. She looked through the archway to the right, seeing paint cloths draped over everything in the front parlor. “I see you’re in the midst of redecorating.”
Grams’s blue eyes darkened with worry. “The opening is Memorial Day weekend, and now Rachel is laid up. I don’t know…” She stopped and shook her head. “Well, we’ll get through it somehow. Right now, let’s get you settled, so that both of us can catch a few hours sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”
“Where are you putting me?” She glanced up the graceful open staircase that led from the main hall to the second floor. “Is that all guest rooms now?”
Grams nodded. “The west side of the house is the inn. The east side is still ours.” She opened the door on the left of the hall. “Come along in. We have the back stairway and the rooms on this side, so that’ll give us our privacy. You’ll be surprised at how well this is working out.”
She doubted it, but she was too tired to pursue the subject now. Or to think straight, for that matter. And Grams must be exhausted, physically and emotionally. Still, she couldn’t help one question.
“What was she doing out there? Rachel, I mean. Why was she walking along Crossings Road alone after dark?”
“She was taking Barney for a run.” Grams’s voice choked a little. “She’s been doing that for me since she got here, especially now that things have been so upset. Usually there’s not much traffic.”
That made sense. Rachel could cut onto Crossings Road, perpendicular to the main route, without going into the village.
She trailed her grandmother through the large room that had been her grandfather’s library, now apparently being converted into an office-living room, and up the small, enclosed stairway. This was the oldest part of the house, built in 1725. The ceilings were lower here, accounting for lots of odd little jogs in how the two parts of the Unger mansion fit together.
Grams held on to the railing, as if she needed some help getting up the stairs, but her back was as straight as ever. The dog, who always slept on the rug beside her bed, padded along.
Her mind flickered back to Grams’s comment. “What do you mean, things have been upset? Has something gone wrong with your plans?”
She could have told them, had told them, that they were getting in over their heads with this idea of turning the place into an inn. Neither of them knew anything about running a bed-and-breakfast, and Grams was too old for this kind of stress.
“Just—just the usual things. Nothing for you to worry about.”
That sounded evasive. She’d push, but they were both too tired.
Her grandmother opened a door at the top of the stairs. “Here we are. I thought you’d want your old room.”
The ceiling sloped, and the rosebud wallpaper hadn’t changed in twenty years. Even her old rag doll, left behind when her mother had stormed out of the house with them, still sat in the rocking chair, and her white Bible lay on the bedside table. This had been her room until she was ten, until the cataclysm that split the family and sent them flying off in all directions, like water droplets from a tornado. She tossed her bags onto the white iron bed and felt like crying once more.
“Thanks, Grams.” Her voice was choked.
“It’s all right.” Grams gave her another quick hug. “Let’s just have a quick prayer.” She clasped Andrea’s hands, and Andrea tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d prayed before tonight.
“Hold our Rachel in Your hands, Father.” Grams’s voice was husky. “We know You love her even more than we do. Please, touch her with Your healing hand. Amen.”
“Amen,” Andrea whispered. She was sure there were questions she should ask, but her mind didn’t seem to be working clearly.
“Night, Grams. Try and sleep.”
“Good night, Dree. I’m so glad you’re here.” Grams left the door ajar, her footsteps muffled on the hall carpet as she went to the room across the hall.
Andrea looked at her things piled on the bed, and it seemed a gargantuan effort to move them. She undressed slowly, settling in.
She took her shirt off and winced at the movement, turning to the wavy old mirror to see what damage she’d done. Bruises on her chest and shoulder were dark and ugly where the seat belt had cut in, and she had brush burns from the air bag. She was lucky that was the worst of it, but she shook a little at the reminder.
After pulling a sleep shirt over her head, she cleaned off the bed and turned back the covers. She’d see about her car in the morning. Call the office, explain that she wouldn’t be in for a few days. Her boss wouldn’t like that, not with the Waterburn project nearing completion. Well, she couldn’t make any decisions until she saw how Rachel was.
Frustration edged along her nerves as she crossed to the window to pull down the shade, not wanting to wake with the sun. This crazy scheme to turn the mansion into a bed-and-breakfast had been Rachel’s idea, no doubt. She hadn’t really settled to anything since culinary school, always moving from job to job.
Grams should have talked some sense into her, instead of going along with the idea. At this time in her life, Grams deserved a quiet, peaceful retirement. And Rachel should be finding a job that had some security to it.
Andrea didn’t like risky gambles. Maybe that was what made her such a good financial manager. Financial security came first, and then other things could line up behind it. If she’d learned anything from those chaotic years when her mother had dragged them around the country, constantly looking for something to make her happy, it was that.
She stood for a moment, peering out. From this window she looked over the roof of the sunroom, added on to the back of the house overlooking the gardens when Grams had come to the Unger mansion as a bride. There was the pond, a little gleam of light striking the water, and the gazebo. Other shadowy shapes were various outbuildings. Behind them loomed the massive bulk of the old barn that had predated even the house. Off to the right, toward the neighboring farm, was the “new” barn, dating to the 1920s.
It was dark now, with Cal presumably asleep in the tack room apartment. Well, he was another thing to worry about tomorrow. She lowered the shade with a decisive snap and went to crawl into bed.
Her eyes closed. She was tired, so tired. She’d sleep, and deal with all of it in the morning.
Something creaked overhead—once, then again. She stiffened, imagining a stealthy footstep in the connecting attics that stretched over the wings of the house. She strained to listen, clutching the sheet against her, but the sound wasn’t repeated.
Old houses make noises, she reminded herself. Particularly her grandmother’s, if her childhood memories were any indicator. She was overreacting. That faint, scratching sound was probably a mouse, safely distant from her. Tired muscles relaxed into the soft bed, and exhaustion swept over her.
She plummeted into sleep, as if she dived into a deep, deep pool.
Andrea stepped out onto the patio from the breakfast room, Barney nosing out behind her and then running off toward the pond, intent on his own pursuits. A positive call from the hospital had lifted a weight from her shoulders and she felt able to deal with other things. She paused to look around and take a deep breath of country air.
Not such pleasant country air, she quickly discovered. Eli Zook must be spreading manure on his acreage, which met the Unger property on two sides. How were the city tourists Rachel expected to have as guests going to like that? Maybe they’d be pleased at the smell of a genuine Amish farm.
They’d have to admire the view from the breakfast room. The flagstone patio had stood the years well, and now it was brightened by pots overflowing with pansies and ageratum. The wide flower bed dazzled with peonies and daylilies. She had knelt there next to Grams, learning to tell a weed from a flower.
Moving a little stiffly, thanks to her bruises, she stepped over the low patio wall and followed the flag-stone path that led back through the farther reaches of the garden, weaving around the pond and past the gazebo with its white Victorian gingerbread. When she glanced back at the house, morning sunlight turned the sandstone to mellow gold, making the whole building glow.
Rounding the small potting shed, she came face-to-face with the new barn. An apt expression, because she’d always thought the barn had more character than a lot of people. Lofty, white, a traditional bank barn with entries on two levels, it had the stone foundation and hip roof that characterized Pennsylvania Dutch barns. More properly Pennsylvania Swiss or German, her grandfather had always said, but the name stuck.
It hadn’t seen much use since her grandfather had stopped farming and leased the fields to the Zook family, but the stone foundation showed no sign of deterioration, and the wooden planks looked as if they had a fresh coat of white paint.
