Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (43 page)

Jonas stumbled and in his clumsy, reluctant haste he tumbled into a stack of clay pots that went slowly toppling to the planked floor and shattering across the cold ground like ice breaking over the earth. The crashing sound broke through the silence and Jonas only then became aware of the quiet he had been silently screaming in. From that moment it was silent no more.

The front door opened, the smaller screen door swung over the wooden porch floor with a swoosh and a snap as it tightly sprang back in place. His beast shivered at her scent. Then there were a few light footsteps and an ominous click.

“You stay right there now, boy, and I won’t shoot that pretty head of yours off your shoulders.”

Jonas looked up at her from where he kneeled, sprawled across her porch steps. There, his mate stood before him, rifle steady in her hands and pointed directly at his face, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and tattered old slippers. Her hair whipped across her face as a cold gust of wind cut under the porch awning and yawned out into the open space beside the house.

Looking up at her, Jonas slowly said without a bit of inflection or falseness to his voice, “Aim for my neck and shoot my head clear off my shoulders and you shall be the angel of mercy I have searched for.”

Her eyes crinkled and her lips pursed as she frowned at him. She seemed to contemplate his request with a touch of unexpectedness. She sighed and lowered the gun, but still kept her finger tucked neatly into the loop, touching the trigger. “I will only shoot you should you give me reason to, Mister Jonas. My grandbabies are in there and I won’t have you coming here and stirring up trouble, you hear. I know what you’ve come for. I have been expecting you for some time. I am going to offer you a compromise. If you give me your honorable word not to harm my loved ones, I will let you into my home and we can talk. The choice is yours. Betray me and I will blow a hole in your chest bigger than the Liberty Bell. Choice is yours.”

Jonas’s head reared back as he looked at this little slip of a woman before him, holding a rifle like any pure-bred colonist bride, and wondered if she were touched in the head. The gun practically outweighed her slight body, yet she did not even tremble under its burden. “Are you daft, woman? You do not know me. Why on God’s green earth would you—”

“I know plenty more than you realize, Mister Jonas. I have had a visitor over the past few days that has been quite helpful in explaining matters to me.”

Jonas’s beast grunted like a bull, a mist filling the air before him. He breathed in deep, scenting that, yes, there was another within the house. Not a child. A man. He growled.

“Now don’t you start barking and snarling at me like some dirty dog. That man in there has been nothing but polite and good to me and my own since he arrived. If you’d get hold of yourself, you would realize he is likely not someone you would take pleasure in harming either. He is your son.”

“Cain.” The name passed his lips as a whispered oath. He placed the scent of the other male and realized that it was indeed his son. Why was Cain there, in residence at his mate’s home? His mind whirled and his beast continued to growl. “My son has a habit of making himself all too familiar with other males’ mates.”

“Well, I am not your mate nor his so I suggest you relax. I have a lot of good things on the porch, minus the stack of pots you fell into. I’d hate to bloody my stock because you couldn’t listen.”

He sneered at her. “Shoot, Clara. I have no fear of dying.”

Her narrow shoulders raised and lowered on a sigh of exasperation. “That may be true, but I consider your son a friend and I do not think he would be pleased if I shot you. Now, do I have your word you will be on your best behavior if I let you in? It’s damn cold this morning and my fingers are aching with arthritis while my nether parts are getting frostbitten below my robe.”

Jonas’s eyes shot to the region of her body she claimed to be getting frostbite upon. He began to pant. His body wanted what she kept hidden beneath that raggedy old robe. He noticed a tattered slipper begin to tap irritably upon the porch.

“Eyes up here, Mister Jonas. I am twice your age and will not have you looking at me like that.”

Twice his age? So, although she knew more than he expected, she did not know all. “What exactly has my son told you?”

“Come inside and we will discuss it. Either give me your word now or leave. I’m cold and this chill burns my lungs something fierce.”

He stared at her, trying to figure out her angle. Why would she trust an absolute stranger in her home? A man none the less. She was not of the greatest strength, weak, even for her mite size. How had Cain managed to pave somewhat of a welcome for him? He saw her shiver and his protective instincts took over. He stood like a docile, cowed young boy and followed her into the home.

The house smelled of fresh coffee, paint, and her own unique scent. He sensed the children sleeping in a nearby room. He also sensed his son awake, but giving him the respect of privacy.

She led him into a small kitchen and gestured for him to take a seat at the small table dominating the cramped space. He sat, the simple wooden chair creaking under his weight, and rested his palms on the smooth enameled surface of the table. She walked to the counter and leaned the rifle into the crook of the cabinets.

As she moved to pour two steaming cups of coffee, he examined the space. There were boxes tucked into corners throughout the home. Paintings lay stacked against almost every unfurnished space. Upon the counter were apothecary bottles by the dozen. Medicines. He looked at her refrigerator, the curved white surface covered with a collage of colored photographs. There was one of his mate with two young children and a woman who was the younger image of herself.

“Do not get too comfortable, Mister Jonas. I may be old, but I am quick. One false move and I will have that rifle on you in a heartbeat and you will feel the burn of buckshot throughout your more prized parts.”

She turned, holding the two mugs. She carried them to the table then retrieved the gun and found her seat. She rested the rifle across her lap and slid a mug closer to him. Jonas wanted nothing of the beverage, his desire for food long gone.

She sipped her coffee quietly then commented, “That boy of yours sure is a schmoozer. I imagine he has the women on your farm chasing him around with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, unsure what to do with themselves in his presence. Drink your coffee.”

Jonas frowned, but pulled the mug to his lips and pretended to take a sip. “What has Cain told you?”

She placed her mug on the table and he noticed flecks of paint embedded around her cuticles. “He told me to expect you. That you needed something from me, but he could not explain what. He said it was your place to tell me. He also said he would protect me if there were need. He only asked that I listen to you and consider your request before sending you away. I will tell you, Mister Jonas, if this is some attempt to purchase my home you can go. My home is for my grandchildren. It is the one thing I can leave them in this life and I have no intentions of seeing it passed off to someone else.”

“I am not interested in your home.”

“Then what?”

“Who is that man with his arm around you in that photograph?”

She turned and looked to the refrigerator. Spotting the photo he was referring to, she said, “That’s my husband, Arthur. That picture was taken of us the year Clinton was inaugurated in his first term. We had gone to Washington for the event. Not that we were invited in, but it was still exciting to be close to all those who cared. My husband was a political man. Very involved in the elections as a constituent.”

“Was?”

“Arthur passed away September 11, 2001. He and my son-in-law were aboard Flight 93.”

“An airplane accident?”

“Yes. The day the Pentagon and the World Trade Centers were hit. Arthur and Robert’s plane was the fourth to go down. No one knows where the hijackers were intending to take it. The passengers formed a rebellion before they made it to their target. I have no doubt my husband, always the patriot, was one of the men insisting on mutiny. My daughter spoke briefly to her husband Robert, but I was never given the chance to say good-bye to my Arthur. It’s difficult to imagine a mother and daughter becoming widows in the same day. But there were many women who became widows that day.”

Jonas recalled hearing of this event. There had been talk of war, but Amish were pacifists. They had prayed for the victims and for the grace of forgiveness among those affected by such ugliness, ironic that he had been praying for his mate. “I am sorry for your family’s loss.”

She gave a sad smile and Jonas sensed her grief. “Loss is something my family has known all too well.” She took a sip of her coffee and seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. Placing the mug back on the table, she said, “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”

“Did you love your husband?”

“Very much. Have you ever been married? I know you have a son, but Cain did not tell me much of your personal life.”

“I have four children. Cain is a twin to my other son, Adam. I have a younger daughter, Gracie, and my eldest is called Larissa. My wife’s name is Abilene.”

“Is? And where is this wife of yours?”

“She is home on the farm. She has insisted I come here and meet with you.”

“Well, I am on pins and needles, Mister Jonas. What can I do for you?”

“Why do you have so many medicines?”

Apparently taken off guard by his question, she turned and noticed where he gazed. The little orange bottles filled the space below the length of the windowsill. She laughed. “I’m old. You will get there someday.”

“How old are you?”

“Tsk, tsk. Did your mother never teach you it is impolite to ask a woman her age?”

“My apologies.”

She waved a hand at him, her paint-dappled fingers fanning through the space between them. “That’s okay. My mother taught me plenty. I am twenty-nine.” At his look of shock, she began to chuckle in earnest. Her laughter faded into a rattling cough. When she regained her composure she smiled. “I am seventy-two, Mister Jonas.”

She did not look twenty-nine, but she also did not look seventy-two. Although her hair was white as snow, it was full and beautiful. Her eyes had a spark of merriment that never seemed to leave them. Her skin bore no makeup yet she had a sort of radiant glow about her. After simply watching her for a few moments, he said, “You are the guardian of your grandchildren.”

“Yes. My daughter passed away last month. It is something I would rather not discuss if you don’t mind.”

“How old are they?”

“Ten and sixteen.”

“You worry for them.” It was not a question, but an observation.

“Of course. Who else will? I worry myself out of sleep. I worry myself into tears. I worry ruts into my floor over what will happen to them when I am gone. Who will look after them? Dane is two years from being a legal adult. Even then he will be too young, to my thinking, to properly look after himself and his sister. They have lost both parents. We were always a small family. Come next year it will have shrunk by one again. I am not where I should be with my God at this point in my life and I fear I may never forgive him for what he has taken from those children in there.”

Jonas knew plenty about being at odds with God. “How are you so certain you will not be here for them?”