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“But...” Sarah frowned, visualizing the scene. “There wouldn’t have been any gasoline stored in an unused barn. Anyone would know better than that.”
At least, she’d think so. Gus Hill drove a rattletrap old pickup that looked as if it were held together with binder twine, but surely he wouldn’t do something so foolish as to store gas in the barn.
Fielding made a noise that might have been agreement. “Did you approach the barn once you got there?”
“I checked the cottage first, looking for the caretaker, but it was empty. Then I went to the barn. I had to be sure the caretaker wasn’t inside, you see.”
Unlike Aaron, Fielding didn’t criticize that decision. “How could you see inside? Did you open the door?”
“No, I didn’t have to. The door was standing wide open.”
He nodded, and she understood now what he was thinking. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
“The doors are usually closed. I’ve passed that barn a hundred times and never seen them standing open before.”
“Why? I mean, what’s the point of the doors being open?” Allison didn’t bother to disguise her interest.
“Someone might have left them open to allow the air to get at the fire,” Sarah said. “That would feed the flames.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.” Fielding peered at her again.
Maybe she’d better not volunteer opinions so quickly, with the investigator writing down her words.
“Anyone who burns trash knows that much,” she pointed out.
He made another note on his pad. “Could you tell where the flames were concentrated when you first got there?”
Sarah tried to put herself back in the jolting buggy, urging the frightened mare up the lane. The image rose in her mind.
“The two back corners,” she said without hesitation. “At first I thought it was just one, but then I saw the other burning, too. I remember that’s how it appeared at first, and then after I’d checked the cottage and looked again, the whole back was in flames.”
“Moving fast?” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes intent, looking like a robin that spied a juicy worm.
Sarah shivered. “It seemed so to me. When I looked in the front to see if anyone was there, the flames seemed to race toward me across the floor in kind of a narrow path.”
Fielding made a satisfied sound and jotted a few more words in his notebook. Then he snapped it shut decisively. “Good. That’s all for now, but I might want to talk to you again.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine what else there was to say, but she nodded. “I’m usually here during the day and home in the evening.”
“Don’t take any trips without letting the police know,” he said shortly, then headed for the door like a man in a hurry.
Allison waited until the door had closed behind him before she spoke. “Condescending jerk,” she muttered. “I’d have told him a thing or two about his attitude, but I knew you didn’t want me to.”
Sarah shrugged. “He probably hasn’t been around the Amish much.”
“That’s no excuse for rudeness,” Allison snapped. “You are a witness, not a suspect.”
“He probably thinks everyone is a suspect.” She frowned, uneasy. “I hope he doesn’t stir up trouble.”
“What was all that about, anyway? You seemed to understand the importance of where the fire was when you first saw it, but I didn’t.” Allison pushed a wing of coppery hair behind her ear.
“When I drove up the lane, the smoke was coming from the two back corners.” Sarah visualized the scene again. “I didn’t even realize that until he asked me the question. Don’t you see? An accidental fire wouldn’t start in two different places at the same time.”
“So that means someone started it.” Allison considered the idea for a moment. “Well, we’ve suspected it all along, so I’m not exactly shocked.”
“It means more than that,” Sarah said, her voice dragging as she saw the implications. “It means that the fire had been started a short time before I saw the smoke. So when I reached the barn, the arsonist couldn’t have been far away.”
“You didn’t see anyone? No, of course not, or you’d have said.” Allison answered her own question.
“Not a glimpse.”
Sarah had a sudden image in her mind of a faceless figure lurking in the woods, watching her run toward the barn, and her stomach turned over. He’d been there, whoever he was. He could have seen her, and she’d never known it.
* * *
“CAN WE GET any treat we want?” Lena tilted her head to one side and gazed up at Aaron as they entered the sunny interior of the coffee shop across the street from Blackburn House late in the afternoon. “A doughnut would make my arm feel better.”
Anna gave her little sister a skeptical look. “Shots don’t hurt after they’re over,” she pointed out.
“Lena was a brave girl when the doctor gave her the shots,” Aaron said peacefully. “And you were very patient to wait. So you each get a treat, so long as you promise to eat your supper when you get home.”
“I promise, Daadi,” Anna said quickly, and Lena nodded vigorously.
Ella, the cheerful Amish widow who ran the restaurant, came to the counter as they approached. “My, look at these two big girls. What brings you to town today?”
“I got my shots so I can go to school this year,” Lena announced. “And we get to have a treat.”
“That is a special event,” Ella said. “It deserves a special treat. What will you have?”
While the girls pondered, pressing their faces against the glass case to debate the merits of crullers and peanut butter doughnuts, Ella glanced at him. Her perpetually flushed face was concerned.
“Have you heard? The man from the state police is in Laurel Ridge to look into the fires. And none too soon, I’d say. The damage—”
Aaron shook his head, glancing at the girls. They’d had enough trauma in their young lives with losing their mother. He didn’t want them losing sleep fearing a fire.
Ella, stricken, snapped her lips closed and seemed to be trying to think of something else to say. He saw that Anna was watching her, apprehension lurking in her blue eyes.
“Anna and Lena. How nice to see you today.” The door closed behind Sarah, and she advanced on his daughters, smiling. “What are you doing in town?”
Lena, distracted, began to repeat the story of her injections. She even insisted on pushing her sleeve up so Sarah could see her bandage.
“You’ll be all ready for school, won’t you? And you’re so lucky.” She reached out a hand to draw Anna closer. “Because your sister is going into third grade already, and she knows everything there is to know about first grade. She can tell you all about it, ain’t so, Anna?”
Anna brightened, clasping Sarah’s hand. “Ja, that’s right.”
Aaron watched, smiling a little. What a shame it was that Sarah had never married. She’d certain sure have made a good mother, seeming to understand his kinder by instinct. He’d never pictured Sarah, of all people, being a maidal. But when he thought about who she might have married, the question stymied him. Was there anyone he’d have thought good enough for his friend?
Still chatting to them about school, Sarah got the girls settled at a table, and Ella brought them their doughnuts.
“Ach, I’m sorry,” the widow said softly, when both women came back to the counter. “I wasn’t thinking, that’s for sure. You don’t want the little ones worrying about somebody starting fires.”
“No harm done,” Aaron said. “Sarah distracted them.” He smiled at her. “What brings you to Ella’s? A late lunch?”
Sarah shook her head. “Ella has promised me a quilt her great-aunt made—for our display. So I came to pick it up and save her a trip.”
“I have it here for you.” Ella dived behind the counter and emerged with a quilt wrapped loosely in paper. “It ought to have the binding mended or even replaced, but I’m too busy in the shop to find the time.”
“It’s lovely,” Sarah said, turning back the paper to reveal a Log Cabin design, its deep colors faded to a mellow tone. “We’re happy to have it to show.” She held it so he could see.
But Aaron wasn’t especially interested in quilts, at least not at the moment. “I heard the state police fire marshal talked to you already.”
She nodded, a shadow coming over her face. He saw her glance at his arm, obviously knowing he’d been burned, but his sleeve covered it. “I guess he’s going to talk to everyone who was at the fires. He seemed convinced, I thought, that the one I saw had been deliberately started.”
“I’m not surprised. We’d figured it out already. I just hope he can find the person who’s doing it before it gets any worse.”
Sarah clutched the quilt against her, as if for comfort. “It’s terrible, wondering who it could be.”
Aaron wanted to reassure her, to say that nothing bad would happen. But how could he? None of them knew that for sure.
“We’re keeping watch,” he said, fearing it wasn’t enough. If someone was out there looking for a chance to set a fire, he’d find one.
The bell on the door jingled as a customer entered, and he recognized that cousin of Mrs. Everly’s. She hurried to the counter, and he stepped politely out of her way as she nodded at Sarah and set an oversize purse on the counter.
“A loaf of cinnamon raisin bread for my cousin,” she said to Ella. “She says she’s hungry for it.”
“Right away.” Ella beamed, happy to have her baking expertise noticed.
“How is Julia today, Donna?” Sarah asked.
“Not as good as she thinks.” The woman shook her head, pressing her thin lips together. “Like this cinnamon loaf. By the time I take it to her, she’ll have forgotten she asked for it. I’m telling you, she gets more and more confused every day. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”
Sarah’s gentle face seemed to tighten. “I didn’t find her confused when I visited her,” she said.
“Yes, but you’re not there every day, like I am,” the woman said quickly. “You don’t know. And much as I hate to say it, having visitors just makes her worse. Anything out of the ordinary is upsetting. All I can do is keep her as quiet as possible. People should be more understanding.”
“Julia always enjoys chatting when I come by.” Sarah said the words carefully, keeping her tone mild.
But Aaron knew his Sarah well enough to recognize the annoyance lurking in her eyes, and it surprised him. Obviously her caring extended well beyond her own family.
That shouldn’t be a surprise, he told himself. Sarah was a woman now, and those qualities of kindness and caring she’d shown as a child had grown with her.
“Yes, well... I think I know my cousin best.” Seizing the loaf of bread from Ella, the woman flounced off.
Sarah looked after her, worry lines forming between her brows. “Julia didn’t seem nearly that bad the last time I talked to her. If Donna is right...” She let that trail off and shook her head. “Maybe Allison and I should drop in on Julia. She’s wonderful fond of Allison because of her friendship with Allison’s grandmother.”
“Don’t look so worried. Maybe the woman is exaggerating.” Aaron brushed Sarah’s hand with his, wishing he knew how to remove the stress from her face. “You don’t have to take care of the whole world, you know.”
Her lips seemed to tremble for an instant, and then she pressed them together. “If someone needs help, I can’t pretend it’s not my concern,” she said.
No, he supposed she couldn’t. It wasn’t in Sarah’s nature to ignore her responsibility to a neighbor, no matter who that neighbor happened to be. And he wouldn’t want to change one thing about her. His little playmate had grown into an admirable woman, and that fact battled with a startling need to protect her from discomfort.
* * *
SARAH FOUND HER thoughts returning to Julia Everly that evening. Washing dishes while Grossmammi dried and Mamm put things away, she felt more than usually thankful for family. Grossmammi would never have to think of growing old alone. She’d live and die surrounded by those who loved her, unlike Julia Everly.
Julia had friends, of course, acquired over a long life, but her tart tongue had sometimes isolated her. And Donna Edwards, a several-times-removed cousin, was apparently her only family.
Mamm flicked the dish towel at her. “What has our Sarah so silent tonight?”
“Ach, I was just listening to the two of you.” Mamm and Grossmammi had been chatting away as they always did, and no one listening to the love flowing between them would think Grossmammi was Mamm’s mother-in-law, rather than her mother.
“You listen to us every day of your life,” Grossmammi said. “You are fretting. Is it about the fires?” She lowered her voice on the last word, as if hating to say it aloud.
“No, well, not at the moment, anyway. I was thinking about Julia Everly. I ran into Donna today, and she says that Julia’s memory is failing her. I thought Julia was fine when I talked to her, but Donna seemed convinced.”
Grossmammi listened to her account of Donna’s words, her gray head tilted to one side like a tiny snowbird. Never more than an inch or two over five feet, she’d shrunk in recent years. But her eyes still held their sparkle, and her fingers had never lost their cunning with a needle.
“It does sometimes happen that a person might perk up for a visitor but show more loss to the one who cares for them every day,” she said when Sarah had finished. “Your grossdaadi was like that, remember?”
Sarah nodded. “But we were all around, so it was as if he had company all the time, ain’t so?”
Grossmammi chuckled. “That’s certain sure. And he loved it.” Her smile faded a bit. “Julia doesn’t have any kin except for Donna, so I’ve heard.”
“Donna said Julia would be better off if people didn’t drop in to see her, but that seems so wrong to me. Julia enjoys visitors. I’d think she’d be better off with more, not fewer.”
Mamm opened her mouth as if to say something and then frowned, shaking her head a little. “If her doctor thinks that...”
Her words trailed off as she glanced toward the window over the sink. “Someone’s coming. That’s Allison’s car, ja?”
Sarah put the last pot in the drainer and dried her hands. “I hope nothing’s wrong. She didn’t mention stopping in tonight.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Grossmammi hustled to the stove. “Allison always likes a cup of my mint tea. She says it’s soothing.”
In another moment Allison was coming in the back door, too much at home in the cozy kitchen to need to knock when she spotted them through the window. Greeted with hugs, she was soon ensconced at the long maple table with a steaming cup of mint tea, while Mamm tried to persuade her to have just a sliver of blackberry pie.
“A tiny, tiny piece,” Allison agreed, laughing. “I know what your slivers look like.”
“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” Sarah poured tea for her grandmother, as well, before sitting down.
“No, but I had an idea. You know, about needing to raise more money for the fire company.” Allison’s green eyes lit with enthusiasm. “We have to do something. I talked to Ellen, and she agrees with me.”
“We heard about Aaron getting burned,” Mamm said. “That’s bad. The boys should have what they need to do the job, ain’t so?”
“That’s what I think.” Allison sparkled, obviously sensing an ally. “Nick says they really need a new truck, as well. Their pumper is on its last legs, so they’ve been saving up to buy a good used one.”
“I don’t think there’s anything—” Sarah began, but Allison interrupted her.
“Oh, I know we can’t do everything at once, but it seems to me if we get the ball rolling, more people will understand the need and become involved.”
