When Secrets Strike Page 3

  Eli looked toward his own barn. His oldest boy, Jonah Michael, usually known as Jonny, seemed to be teaching little Noah how to drive the pony cart, while Thomas sat on the paddock fence to watch.

  “I remember the last time it happened. Years ago, it was, but they never caught the guy.” Aaron had been just a boy then, but he’d taken turns with Daad standing watch, starting at every sound in the dark.

  “There’s more able-bodied men around here now, at least,” Eli said, sounding determined to put the best face possible on bad news. “You and your brother and your daad, plus me and the Whitings.” He nodded toward the next farm beyond the Bitler place, where Nick Whiting lived with his parents and Nick’s small son. “I’m thinking we’ll leave the dogs loose at night from now on. They’ll give an alarm fast enough.”

  “If they’re not off chasing a deer.” Eli must have more faith in his dogs than Aaron did. “Jonah and I will take turns walking around a couple of times a night. Maybe get Nick Whiting to switch off with us.”

  “You can count on me, too.” Eli glanced down the lane at the sound of buggy wheels. “Here comes Sarah. If we’re not careful, we’ll have her wanting to join us.” His eyes twinkled. “I hear you scolded her for getting too close to that burning barn this morning.”

  Aaron grinned. “She put me in my place pretty fast. Sarah might be quiet, but she’s got a mind of her own.”

  The buggy drew up next to the porch, and Sarah’s gaze went from him to her father. “What are the two of you conspiring about?” she asked. “You look like you’re sharing secrets.”

  “Just talking about the fires,” Eli said quickly. “Your brother will put the mare away for you,” he added as Thomas came running up, obviously eager to be trusted with the job.

  “Right. Denke, Thomas.” She hopped down lightly before anyone could move to offer her a hand, making Aaron smile again.

  Sarah was still as slim and active as she’d been when she was a young girl. He had a sudden vivid image of her chasing after him in some game they’d been playing, her braids coming loose and trailing out behind her. Her fair hair was smoothed back from a center part now, fastened in a thick bun under her snowy-white prayer covering. No one outside family or a spouse would see it loose again, and he found himself wondering how it would look.

  “What are folks in town saying about the fires?” Eli caught his daughter’s hand when she would have gone past them to the porch.

  Sarah’s normally serene expression sobered. “Same as you two have been saying, I’d guess. That there’s a firebug loose. That maybe it’s the same person it was the last time, since the police never caught him. Poor Mac is looking harassed already, I think. Nick told us he’s reported it to the regional fire marshal. Why should anyone blame Mac for the fact that they didn’t catch the arsonist before? He was just a boy then.”

  “Some folks are only happy when they have someone to blame for their troubles,” Eli said.

  Aaron’s thoughts had headed a different direction. “It doesn’t seem likely it’s the same person. That must have been—what? Close to twenty years ago.”

  Sarah shrugged. “I know, but that’s what some people are saying.” She focused on him, her blue eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right? I heard you had trouble with your gear today.”

  Her caring touched him. “Nothing serious.” Though he had to admit it could have been, if he’d been any closer to the fire when his mask failed. “Some of our equipment is nearly as old as I am.”

  “That’s terrible. Didn’t we make enough at the spring sale to buy new equipment?”

  The community spring festival in town raised money each year for the volunteer fire company, and Sarah, one of the hardest workers, would feel responsible.

  “Ja, well, the money was put to gut use, but the trouble is that there’s too much needs replacing. We’ll have to rely on the neighboring companies for help in future emergencies, that’s certain sure.”

  “You shouldn’t have to take risks.” Sarah’s smooth forehead wrinkled. “We need to do something.”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “There’s always something.” Her sweet oval face was troubled. “There must be.”

  Sarah had a big heart—he’d always known that. She was a gut friend. He’d never been able to understand why she and Mary Ann hadn’t been closer. They’d been neighborly, but never really friendly.

  Still, women were unaccountable. As usual, thinking of his late wife made him feel vaguely uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. Logic said he hadn’t failed Mary Ann, but his conscience seemed to declare otherwise.

  Seeing that Sarah still looked troubled, he managed a smile. “Don’t worry so much. We won’t take any needless risks. We all look out for one another.”

  His words did bring a responding smile to her face. “Don’t bother telling me you’re cautious. You all get so excited when the siren goes off that you don’t think about a thing except getting to the fire, and you might as well admit it.”

  “Maybe there’s a little truth to that,” he said, relieved to see her expression relax. Sarah knew him too well for him to deny it. When you’d been friends with someone since childhood, there wasn’t much you didn’t know about the person.

  That was probably why he enjoyed being around Sarah. Any other single Amish woman would be wondering why he hadn’t remarried before this, with his wife gone for over two years. Maybe even flirting a little. And since he couldn’t look at anybody in a romantic way since Mary Ann’s death, they always made him uncomfortable.

  But Sarah was different. He could be at ease with her because she didn’t have any such notions. She was a friend, a good friend, and that friendship was all they needed from each other.

  * * *

  SARAH MOVED ALONG the rack of quilting fabrics in the shop the next day, sorting and straightening. Several women had come in earlier to choose fabrics for new projects, and that had entailed pulling out dozens of bolts to compare. They’d gone away happy, though, purchases under their arms, and that was what counted.

  The shop was quiet now, with Allison having gone upstairs to her office. In fact, all of Blackburn House seemed still after yesterday’s alarms. Too quiet? Sarah had begun to feel as if she were holding her breath, waiting for the siren to wail again.

  Thank the Lord there’d been nothing more last night or today. Perhaps yesterday’s fires had been simply a coincidence. She pulled out a bolt of cotton and restored it to its proper place among the green prints, running her hand along the smooth surface. Still, two unexplained blazes within hours of each other seemed to stretch chance a bit too far.

  It was odd, surely, that both incidents had happened during the day. She’d think that an arsonist would be more likely to set about his misdeeds after dark, when there was less chance of being seen. She’d intended to mention that to Daad yesterday to see what he thought, but Aaron had been there when she got home, driving every other idea from her brain, it seemed.

  Foolishness, that was what it was. Most people would consider her a sensible woman, but on that one subject, she was ferhoodled. Nowadays young girls, even Amish ones, seemed to fall in and out of love a half dozen times before settling down. Why couldn’t she have done the same?

  Sarah paused, cradling a bolt of material in her arms, a memory slipping to the surface of her mind for reasons of its own. She’d been the only girl in their small group of childhood playmates—Nick and Mac Whiting on one side of her house, Aaron on the other. During the school year they’d been separated, of course, with her and Aaron going to the Amish school, while Nick and Mac went to the Englisch one, but in the summers, she’d tagged along after the boys wherever they went.

  Mac, lively and heedless, had usually been the one to dare the others into some foolish act—such as racing across the field where the ba
d-tempered bull was kept. No one would say no to a dare, even when they should have.

  “If we all run at the same time, that stupid bull won’t know which one to chase,” Mac had insisted, and even at eight or nine Sarah had thought there was a fallacy somewhere in that argument. But she’d gone, running with the boys, hearing the bull snort with displeasure.

  The pasture was uneven beneath her feet, and fear seemed to make her clumsy. She tripped, stumbled, and by the time she regained her balance, the boys were well ahead of her and the bull so close she could almost feel his hot breath. She wasn’t going to make it—the boys had already reached the fence, but she’d never get there in time—

  Then Aaron was running back toward her. He grabbed her hand, yanking her along—not toward the fence, but to the old apple tree in the pasture. The bull was almost on them when he’d boosted her up into the branches.

  “Climb! Go!”

  She scrambled up and then turned back, convinced she’d see Aaron flattened on the ground. But he grabbed a limb, swinging himself up and out of range just as the bull thundered past, and she’d never been so relieved before or since.

  Funny. She still dreamed of that sometimes, hearing the bull thudding behind her, getting closer and closer. Sometimes in the dream Aaron reached her in time. Sometimes he didn’t. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything.

  In any event, she feared she’d fallen in love with Aaron that day, and her stubborn heart refused to fall back out again, even when he’d married someone else.

  The bell on the door jingled, so Sarah looked toward it, smiling in welcome. The smile faded when she saw Gus Hill slouched in the doorway. In his tattered overalls and stained T-shirt, he didn’t look much like the typical quilt shop customer. As always, his faded baseball cap was pulled low on his forehead, and graying hair hung shaggy around his ears.

  “Good morning, Gus. How can I help you?” Julia might have sent him along with a message, Sarah supposed.

  His sidelong glance skittered along the rows of fabric, then focused on her. “Miz Everly said as how I oughta come by and thank you. Said you looked around for me when you spotted that fire yesterday.”

  So that was the reason behind his visit. If Julia directed Gus to do a thing, he did seem to do it, however much he might skimp in other ways.

  “I was concerned for you,” Sarah said. “I thought you might be asleep and not realize something was wrong.”

  Gus took a step closer, planting a probably grimy hand on a bolt of pale yellow cotton. She tried not to think of the marks he might be leaving. “If I’d a been there, I’d a smelt it for sure.”

  Sarah nodded, but she wondered. If Gus had been drinking, as Mac supposed, would he have been alert enough to notice? Folks said Gus was shrewd in his own way.

  “Well, I was relieved to see you weren’t in danger.” And she’d also be relieved if he’d stop handling the fabric, but she could hardly say so.

  Apparently feeling he’d satisfied his obligation, Gus started to turn away. Then he swung back, frowning. “Here—you didn’t go in my house, did you? Nobody’s got a right to go in my house without I say so.” His voice rasped, and he glared at her.

  A tiny shiver slid along her skin, making the fine hairs lift. “I just looked in to be sure you weren’t there, that’s all.”

  Maybe he was afraid she’d report to Julia on the state of the cottage. Julia probably hadn’t been out there in months, if not years.

  “Yeah, well, see you don’t. Man’s got a right to privacy in his own home, ain’t he?” His tone returned to its usual complaining grumble, and Sarah told herself she must have imagined that note of menace.

  “It’s lucky you weren’t home when the fire started. You might have been hurt trying to fight it on your own.” She’d like to ease him toward the exit, but wasn’t quite sure how to manage it. “You were out early, weren’t you?”

  Anger flared in his face, so quickly it startled her. “No business of yours if I was, you hear?” Gus took a step toward her, oddly menacing.

  Sarah was suddenly aware of how isolated they were. No one else was in the shop, and the old building seemed to echo with the sound of his words.

  Don’t be ferhoodled, she lectured herself. Gus might be a bit disreputable, but he certain sure wasn’t dangerous.

  She straightened. Best to ignore his last remark, she decided. “Thank you for coming by. I’ll be sure to tell Julia about seeing you.”

  For a moment Gus stood there, close enough that she could smell the rank odor of his clothes. Then the bell on the door jingled, and he jerked around. In another instant he shambled out of the shop, brushing by Aaron King without a word.

  Aaron frowned after him before crossing the space to her. “What was Gus Hill doing in here?” He studied her face, his brown eyes seeming to darken. “Was he bothering you?”

  “No, no.” Gus was harmless enough, despite his manner. “He came by because Julia told him he should thank me, but I could have done without the visit.” She pulled the bolt of yellow cotton from the rack. Sure enough, there was a streak of dirt almost the width of the fabric.

  Aaron grasped the bolt, preventing her from walking away. “I glanced in the window when I walked past. You didn’t look right. That’s why I came in.”

  “I’m fine.” She would not be moved by the protectiveness in Aaron’s manner. It didn’t mean anything. “I was just cringing at his touching this material.” She gestured toward the bolt, hoping she sounded natural. “Look at it. I’ll have to cut off the end.”

  Without responding, Aaron took the bolt and carried it to the cutting table for her. She could feel his gaze on her while she moved behind the table and picked up the scissors. Before she could cut, he put his hand lightly on hers, making her pulse jump.

  “We’re friends, Sarah. You’d tell me if something’s troubling you, ain’t so?”

  “There’s nothing. I’m fine.” It took a conscious effort to draw her hand away from his. “What brings you to Blackburn House this morning? You’re not shopping for quilting fabric any more than Gus was, that’s certain sure.”

  She said the words lightly and was surprised by the way his brows drew down and his lips tightened.

  “Aaron?” she questioned. “Was ist letz? What’s wrong?”

  His broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “Nothing’s wrong. I came by to check on something with Harvey Preston, that’s all.”

  Preston was the real estate agent who had an office on the second floor, and she couldn’t help a natural curiosity about Aaron’s business with him. “From your expression, you weren’t happy with his answer, ain’t so?” She smiled up at him. “We’re friends, remember? You can tell me if something’s troubling you.” She repeated his words back to him.

  Aaron started to shake his head and then broke off, his lips moving in an answering smile. “Guess I can’t say it’s not your concern, ain’t so? You remember that I talked to Matthew Gibson before he took off for Florida last fall?”

  “You offered to buy his place if he was thinking of selling.” Gibson’s property was across the road from that of Aaron’s family. It would make a nice addition to the farm, probably doubling the size.

  “He hadn’t made up his mind then, but he promised me that I’d have the first chance at it when he was ready to sell.” Aaron’s clear gaze clouded. “Well, I just found out that Preston was handling the sale for him, and the place is already sold without a thing being said to me.”

  “Aaron, I’m so sorry.” She almost reached out to touch him before realizing that might not be the best of ideas. “It’s hard to believe Matt Gibson would do that to you after giving you his assurance.”

  “Ja.” Aaron ground out the word, his strong jaw tight under the chestnut beard. “It was his business, but I certain sure never thought he’d go back on his p
romise like that. Still, he’s old and he’s been sick. Maybe he just forgot about it.”

  “Is it really too late?”

  “Preston says the papers are already signed. He apologized, but said Matt never mentioned a word about giving me first refusal. The place went to somebody from out of state.” He shrugged again, managing a smile. “Well, it’s God’s will, ja?”

  It was the normal Amish response when life didn’t go according to their plans. It was God’s will. “Maybe you’ll find a place for sale that’s even better.”

  “Nothing else is likely to be for sale along our road.” He didn’t sound optimistic. “Daad’s place isn’t big enough to support all of us, but with Gibson’s land we’d have been okay, and my mamm and sister could keep watching my girls.”

  “I know,” Sarah said gently. Aaron’s two little girls, Anna and Lena, were the center of his life since Mary Ann’s death, and of course Esther King was delighted to take care of them. It would be difficult for all of them if Aaron had to move farther from his folks to make a living.

  “Well, there’s no point in crying over spilled milk, I guess.” The finality in his tone made it clear the subject was closed. Aaron glanced at the soiled fabric she had crumpled in her hand. “Are you going to try and salvage that piece?”

  She could wash it and add it to the box of remnants she kept for people who needed just a small amount of one color. But the dirty streak on the pale color seemed to remind her of the discomfort she’d felt at being alone in the shop with Gus.

  “Not worth it,” she said, and tossed it into the trash. There was an end to it. She’d never felt uncomfortable being alone in the shop before, and she wouldn’t start now. The shop was her creation and her haven, and it occurred to her that if she hadn’t lost Aaron, she’d never have had the shop.

  “Gut. I’ll put this back for you.” He started to pick up the bolt, but then stopped and grinned, looking for a moment like the boy he’d once been. “If you think my hands are clean enough.” He held them out, palms up, as if for inspection.