Dark Crossings Read online

  Ben looked really upset. Did he think she was a thief for keeping the jewel? Should she have gone to the bishop or the elders with it, or even asked him earlier? A frown furrowed his brow, and he sucked in his lips as if to keep from talking. Finally he said, “Keep looking for it. I’d think a thief would have messed something up, but if your drawer is that neat, maybe you just—”

  “I know where it was, Ben!”

  “Okay, okay. Listen, thanks again for the great breakfast and for confiding in me. Keep your doors locked even in the day, and you can signal me anytime. If you need me during the day, just hang a sheet over that lattice there, because I can see it from my place. Gotta go, but be careful.”

  He was holding something in and something back. Funny how she could read his moods, but then, she’d studied him like crazy when he was younger. But he obviously didn’t want to talk about it—or the diamond. Or maybe he wanted nothing to do with her now, for some reason she couldn’t figure out. She’d forgotten to tell him about her slipper appearing, but she didn’t want to upset him more. The mention of the stolen diamond had obviously riled him a lot for some reason.

  He lifted a hand and backed away, bent to roll up his sleeping bag—he didn’t seem to have his rifle—and strode toward the bridge. She saw him punching numbers into his cell phone, then pressing it to his ear, but he didn’t seem to be talking to anyone.

  Abby took his tray into the house and washed the dishes. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast but had taken her meal out to him without fixing more. Looking outside through the yellow and orange leaves on the trees bordering the creek, she saw him emerge from the bridge, no longer on the phone, and hurrying toward his house. She was drying his coffee mug when she noticed he had a visitor, a thin man in a ball cap, jeans and a sweatshirt who drove into Ben’s driveway in a beat-up truck. Maybe Ben had an appointment with someone, and that’s why he’d left in a hurry. She wondered if she’d recognize the man walking to meet him. He was gesturing wildly, as if Ben was late.

  She gasped. The stranger shoved him, then took a swing at him, catching him on the jaw. Ben started to fall, but righted himself and backed away. He stopped the man’s next blow with his rolled sleeping bag, using it as a shield. But the man—she could hear him shouting, but couldn’t catch his words—kicked and swung at Ben again and again.

  She took a second to lock her back door. She knew Ben was trying hard not to use violence again, so he could be forgiven and taken back among the Amish, and she wanted that with her whole heart. But she wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing, no matter what he’d ordered.

  Grabbing her spade and cutting knife, Abby tore toward the bridge.

  * * *

  ABBY RAN BREATHLESSLY onto Ben’s property. She could hear the stranger shouting.

  “You bastard! I heard you was back. You sent my brother to prison, just ’cause he was making it with your sister! She wanted it, the Amish slut! You shoulda gone to prison for beating him up!”

  “Like you’re doing to me now?” Ben yelled back, dodging most of the man’s blows. He turned his head, shocked to see Abby. “Get away!” he shouted, but looked at her a second too long. The enraged man—it must be Burt Commons, the brother of Steve Commons, who’d attacked Ben’s sister—landed a blow on his face. Ten years back Abby had followed every word of Steve’s trial by sneaking copies of the Wooster Daily Record.

  She was tempted to trip or hit Commons with her spade, but she realized she’d be doing exactly what Ben had done—explode in violence. But this wasn’t fair. This was wrong.

  “It’s okay, Ben!” she shouted. “Thanks for loaning me your cell phone, because I called Sheriff Freeman, and he’s on his way!” It was a lie, but, she figured, better than braining this beast.

  For a moment, she thought Burt Commons would come after her. He turned her way, a snarl on his bearded face. She darted up onto the porch. If Ben came to her aid like he had his sister, it would be a replay of ten years ago.

  She could see Commons waver. He wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. But at last he turned tail and ran back to his truck, got in, slammed the door and shouted out the window, “I’ll be back! You’re gonna pay for what you done!” As he sped away, he spun his wheels so hard they spit gravel.

  Ben came up onto the porch, threw his sleeping bag down and collapsed onto the swing. Abby could see he was bleeding from the nose.

  “We’re both good at using Sheriff Freeman to ward off danger,” he said. “Maybe the Amish are wrong to mistrust Englische law and its enforcers. At least you didn’t smack him with that spade or use your knife. For a moment there, I wondered. Don’t mess with Abby Baughman.”

  “This is no time to joke. You heard what he said. He could be dangerous. And for all we know, he’s been hanging around before. Do you have ice in your freezer so I can get some for your nose?”

  “I’ll take care of my nose,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry you got involved in that. I had no clue he was even in the area now. Even though, back then he was at his brother’s trial every day.” Ben heaved a huge sigh.

  “What I’m thinking is, what if he and some woman were on that bridge arguing, planning to attack you, and they’re the ones I overheard?”

  “Listen, Abby,” Ben said, wiping away blood with his sleeve. “I don’t think he’s a clever enough thief to sneak in and carefully steal a diamond. He’s not the type to own a diamond in the first place. I’m pretty sure your invoking the sheriff’s name will keep him away—like his brother, he’s basically a sneak-attack coward. But when I go into town, I’ll tell Sheriff Freeman and let him have a word with Commons.”

  “But you can’t file charges. The bishop won’t permit—”

  “I know. I’m going to see Bishop Esh, too, so I’ll level with him—about Burt Commons. Please head on back now and stay put. I guess we’re partners in helping each other out, but we can’t keep spending time together—not until later, at least. Not unless things change. I’ll take care of this,” he added, with another swipe at his nose. “Go on now, Abby—please.”

  She yearned to tend to him, but when she saw he meant to stay bleeding on his front porch until she was back across the bridge, she walked away. As she emerged on her side of the river, she felt his eyes on her and glanced back. She quickened her steps even more. She had a lot to do today and was getting a late start on her chores, but not a late start in loving Ben Kline.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THAT MORNING, Abby set about inoculating her maple chips with virgin spawn, remembering how Ben must have misheard her when they were whispering in the basement. Evidently the word virgin had got his attention. As she worked in her familiar mushroom patches, she felt good in the sun and brisk breeze, with the late hangers-on of richly colored leaves floating down around her. But when she went into the house for lunch, her once safe haven bothered her.

  She hadn’t slept well the past two nights, so would she be able to this night? Seeing Ben out there in his sleeping bag had helped, but she still felt uneasy that someone had been in her house and taken the diamond. It was almost as if she’d imagined its glittering beauty, as if she’d dreamed it or made it up.

  But no. All this was real, much too real.

  And how badly she wanted to see more of the jewelry boxes Ben made, maybe so she could understand him better. That one she’d looked at briefly on market day was so beautiful. She’d been thinking of getting out of here for a little while to clear her head, to stop l
ooking across the river at Ben’s house.

  Besides, she had mushrooms to deliver by tomorrow to the Yoders’ roadside stand, and that was close to where the Eden County Library bookmobile would be today. She could take just a few minutes, ask for help to find the Jeweled Treasures website of Cincinnati, and have a closer look at Ben’s carved boxes. It wouldn’t take long. Then she’d come back and do a bit of wildcrafting in the woods while the afternoon sun slanted in. No more after-dark work. She’d promised, and right now it was for the best.

  She ate a grilled cheese sandwich with a slice of mushroom. When she saw Ben drive away, hopefully to see both the sheriff and the bishop, she harnessed Fern to her buggy, locked up carefully and set out. As much as she loved Killibuck Creek and her home there, it was good to get away.

  * * *

  BEN WALKED OUT OF the sheriff’s office into the bright autumn sunshine. Jack Freeman had said he’d “talk some sense” into Burt Commons and would drive out after dark from time to time to the old Hanging Bridge to check on things. And he’d told Ben, even if he was thinking of returning to the Amish, to keep his cell phone for now and phone him day or night if anything “looked fishy.” Ben hadn’t explained about returning to the church, but the sheriff had guessed as much when Ben had refused to bring charges for assault and battery against Burt. The sheriff was used to forgiveness from the Amish, at any cost.

  But Ben knew he’d held something back he should have told the sheriff—that Abby had found a diamond on the bridge and then someone had stolen it from her bedroom. Because Ben had to give his address to the Cincinnati police and the insurance investigators, they had already informed Freeman about the theft at Jeweled Treasures.

  As he got in his truck, he wished he had a buggy instead, so he could drive to see Bishop Esh and talk about possibly returning to the church. Maybe he’d park out on the road and walk up the lane to the Esh farm. He did miss his horse and buggy sometimes. It slowed life down, made the world seem real and lovely, at a reasonable pace instead of rush, rush, rush.

  He agonized, too, about whether his timing was right for atonement and reinstatement among the brethren. Things sure weren’t settled in his life. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of unset gems and designer pieces had been carried out of the jewelry store either with or in his boxes. An inside job, the police and insurance agency had decided. The theft had happened after-hours and pointed to someone who knew his way around. Amish past or not, Ben was the newest staff member, still the outsider, clever enough with his hands and knives to jimmy locks. The theft had been so quick and clean, the paper had called it a “cat burglary.”

  And darn it, why didn’t Triana Tornelli, the co-owner of the store, call him back so he could be certain that earring wasn’t hers? He hit the steering wheel with a fist. Could she have driven out to see him? Cesar might have followed and caught up with her, and they’d argued, maybe struggled on the bridge? Triana had said Cesar sometimes played rough. Then when Abby’s flashlight surprised them, Triana had lost an earring…. No, he was probably just getting paranoid. A lot of women had diamond stud earrings, but the way it had been taken from Abby’s drawer made him think of a cat burglar. And that was Triana, sleek and smooth.

  He tried to shake off the memory of the day she had come after dark to his apartment, saying she wanted to see how he was doing on his first seashell box, a special order for a rich customer who spent her winters in Florida. He’d seen from the first that Triana had more in mind than looking at his carving, which he would have brought in the next day.

  It would have been so easy to sleep with her. But Cesar was his boss, too. It was wrong, and she was wrong, but her perfume and her red mouth…

  He’d turned her down, literally held her off and talked her out of it. She’d pretended not to care, had shrugged and flipped her jacket over her shoulder and made a grand exit. But she’d treated him differently after that. Like Melanie Campbell, she was always watching him, as if waiting to pounce. Now, unlike Ms. Campbell, Triana seemed to be shunning him.

  That was what Abby should be doing. Things were hardly settled between them, and couldn’t be unless he returned to the church. Yeah, he admitted, that was another factor pushing him to come clean with Bishop Esh. Talk about a hidden gem—Abigail Baughman was that in the flesh. It might be a short distance across the covered bridge that separated them, but a long road stretched ahead before he could ever hope to court her openly.

  Ben parked his truck in a pull-off on Oakridge Road about a half mile from Bishop Esh’s farm, got out and locked up, then began the long walk toward his future.

  * * *

  “SO YOU JUST TYPE IN the name of the store in this space,” Nicole Anderson, the librarian in the bookmobile, said, pointing to the top of the screen. “And we’d better put a plus sign and the word Cincinnati, too, in case there are other stores by that name somewhere in the world.”

  “Oh. This covers the whole world?” Abby whispered as she slowly typed all that in. The front part of the bookmobile was fairly crowded with people she knew, and she didn’t want to broadcast what she was doing. She shouldn’t even be online.

  Instantly, when she clicked on the scrolled words Visit Jeweled Treasures Here or In Person, a colored picture sprang onto the screen of jewels and pearl necklaces dripping from carved, half-open boxes, no doubt Ben’s. Each one had something from nature carved on its top or handle—butterflies, leaves, even seashells. Off to the side was a close-up photograph of the owners of the store, Cesar and Triana Tornelli. They were both really trim. Obviously, they hadn’t been anywhere near Amish food. Probably in his mid-fifties, Cesar was a silver-haired, tanned man in a worldly suit, with sharp gray eyes and a prominent nose. Triana Tornelli wore big, hanging emerald earrings and a matching necklace against her bare throat and upper chest. She was pretty despite her hair being chopped really short and slicked to her head and, Abby guessed, dyed that silvery-white shade. Both of them reeked of wealth and worldly power.

  She was so intent on studying them that she jumped when Nicole spoke again. “You just click the cursor on those buttons on the left to find particular things on pages within this website. Let me know if you need help,” she added, and moved away.

  Oh, ja, she needed help, Abby thought. She was in love with a man who said he wanted to return to the Plain People, but had worked for a fancy, just-for-pretty jewelry store with amazing things for sale. She searched each page, astounded at the variety and prices of the jewelry. And then she saw what Nicole had called a button, labeled Custom Jewelry Boxes.

  She clicked on it, and there was picture after picture of Ben’s work, some with him doing the carving or holding up a particular box. But one thing gave her hope. In none of the pictures had he let the photographer show his face, so maybe he was truly, at least a little, still Amish at heart.

  When she got off the website so the next person in line would not know what she’d been looking at, she saw something else listed, a kind of headline: Jeweled Treasures—Theft of Millions Worth of Jewelry Called Inside Job.

  Wide-eyed, she skimmed the Cincinnati newspaper article that came up. Listed among the “persons of interest” in that huge theft was Ben’s name!

  * * *

  ABBY ATE NEXT TO NOTHING for lunch. Since it was broad daylight and the falling leaves allowed a clear line of vision to the house, she locked up and, taking a big hemp wildcrafting bag from her pile, went on her familiar way to the edge of the forest. She had to d
o something besides brood and cry over what she’d read about the jewelry “heist,” as they’d called it. She’d had to look the word up.

  So had Ben come back to the Home Valley to find his Amish life, or escape his English one? Charges were pending; an investigation was still going on. Surely, he could not be guilty. What if he’d dropped a diamond from his stolen gems, and that’s why he was upset she’d found it? Maybe he’d even figured out she had it—had seen her find it that night—and then stole it back. She felt sick to her stomach with fear, but she still believed in him. Didn’t she?

  She knew Ben was not back yet, and if—when—he was, would she confront him with what she’d learned? She hoped he’d talked to the sheriff, who maybe knew all about this. But she prayed he’d also taken time to see Bishop Esh. That was a conversation she would love to eavesdrop on.

  Feeling depressed despite the pretty day, she gathered walnuts first. When her bag got heavy, she trudged back to the house, dumped her bounty in a bushel basket and returned to fill the sack again. With an edgy feeling she’d never had in Wild Run Woods before, she glanced around a lot and didn’t go clear into the shaded ravine, despite the fact that there were two more good-size walnut trees there.

  Abby felt not only sad, but nervous today in these woods she knew so well. She treasured happy memories of wildcrafting here with her mother and grandmother, but that hardly helped. She jumped when she startled a doe and fawn from the underbrush, where they must have been sleeping or grazing by a big hollow log that sported wild wood ear mushrooms she’d need to cut soon. She called after the fleeing animals, “Sorry! It’s your home, too!” But the deer just ran faster, as if Abby was a danger to them.