Fall from Pride (12 page)

He grinned, then chuckled. “I love an honest woman.”

“Don't say that—love.”

“You know what I mean. I just—what's that sound now?”

“A buggy.”

“Going or coming? I've got to go look.”

He brushed himself off as he got up, but she saw pieces of
hay clung to his back. He hurried past Sally and the buggy to the door. She heard him slide it open a little.

“It must be the Millers are home and going right to their house,” he reported as she struggled to pin up her hair. He came back and watched her do it. She wished she was taking it down for him, not just stuffing it up under her
kapp
and the bonnet he retrieved for her and dusted off. Oh, why did this have to happen, because she felt doubly endangered now, by the arsonist and by her own feelings for this
ausländer
who would all too soon, unless there were more fires, take his VERA and go home.

 

After brushing all the hay off each other, they went to explain to the Millers some of what had happened in the barn. While Sarah waited in the house, in the lessening rain, Nate and Levi, and the Millers' oldest boy, Noah, went out to examine the broken loft floor and the back of the barn. They found the threatening words washed off and a maple tree limb that looked like it could have hit the back wall. When they returned to the house, Nate said they had seen the diluted, crimson paint along the edge of the barn's foundation. But Sarah had something to tell him, too.

“Nate, Mrs. Miller says when they pulled up just before we joined them, they found a note from Sheriff Freeman pinned to their front door.”

His eyebrows rose. “From the sheriff? Pinned how?”

“Not with a basting pin—a thumb tack.”

“Could I see the note?”

Sarah watched him stare long and hard at it, just as she had. It was in bold print, but not necessarily a match for the note she'd found. It was on lined, yellow legal-pad paper, not white letter paper. Besides, Sheriff Freeman as a suspect?
Too crazy. The note simply urged the Millers to be sure they stayed home after dark and kept a good eye on their barn.

“Which we would do, anyway,” Levi assured them with a nod as he pointed at the written warning. “Got a good notion to sleep out there with my hunting rifle, broken ribs or not I got from fighting the Esh fire. But Noah's nineteen now, so he could take a turn guarding the place, too. The barn's broken down, but it's all we got now with no money to rebuild.”

Sarah had once known Noah well, for he'd been a close buddy of Jacob's, but she hadn't seen him for months. She supposed Noah missed the shunned Jacob, because he'd really looked up to him.

“So,” Nate said to Sarah as they took their leave and headed away in the buggy in what was now only light mist, “I keep getting surprised about the Amish. Levi might shoot at a person rather than turning the other cheek. Jacob's father said he'd struggled not to want to kill his son for what he'd done to his mother and…” he said, looking sideways at her with a little crimp on the side of his mouth.

“And I kissed you as good as you did me. See, Nathan MacKenzie, you're finding out the Home Valley Amish are not some kind of saints but human. That sign on the barn said you should stay away, but I'd be real sad if you did.”

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, NATE HUNCHED over his computer screen in VERA, parked out by the pond. He was searching for other possible arsons started by artificial fireplace logs, but he was having a hard time keeping his mind on his work. Surprised to hear a car engine close by, he glanced out and saw the sheriff's car. As Nate walked to meet him, Jack Freeman parked at the edge of the pond, got out, slammed the door and sloshed through the puddles toward VERA.

Nate had turned down an invitation from Sarah to join her family for breakfast. It wasn't so much that he couldn't face the Kauffmans after his passionate encounter with Sarah but that he'd already planned to eat at the Dutch Farm Table. He hoped to find Peter Clawson there so he could speak with him casually before they had their appointment. He had some things to bounce off that quick brain of his.

“Sheriff, I could have come in if you'd phoned,” Nate said, extending his hand. “I know you're busy.”

“That I am,” he said as they shook hands. It was a firm
shake, almost too hard. He still wore the plastic rain cover over his wide-brimmed hat, though it had stopped raining sometime overnight.

“Anything new, Sheriff?” Nate asked.

“How about you call me Jack, Nate? Naw, nothing really new. I just thought we should touch bases again, 'cause I can't see much progress, especially with that second arson making us look bad. Thanks for the voice mail about that note left on the Kauffmans'
grossdaadi haus
door and the one on Levi Miller's barn. I'm keeping an eye out for Jacob Yoder's car, license plate number or not. A red sports car really sticks out around here. I took a look in the woodlot where he and his buddies had hidden those hot cars, but no sign of him there. We got to catch us a break somehow.”

“At least we know the Amish aren't hiding him, not even his parents.”

“You probably heard I covered for that boy, but I won't again. If he's the one behind this, I'll kick myself for getting him off scot-free, however hard his own people came down on him.”

“I understand. When dealing with the Amish, it seems right to handle some things—well, differently,” Nate said, wishing he hadn't touched Sarah and yet glad he did. It felt so good to have her holding on to him, her arms around him when they fell, her strong but soft body pressed against his. No question, he was falling for Sarah.

“By the way,” Jack was saying, “I also hit the Hostetler house with a warning, but they were planning to do a night watch, anyway. So—Jacob still your number one suspect? He's mine right now.”

“My interview with his parents indicated he has not only motive and opportunity, but the background for arson. I felt
really bad for them. I'd suggest we don't both question them, if you're thinking of that. They're really agonized over this.”

“See—you've learned to care about the Amish, too, and you've only been here a few days. So what's your next move?”

“I had a short chat with Peter Clawson at the Dutch Farm Table, but I'm going to pick his brain—definitely a close observer of things around here.”

“Peter's not only an asset to the community but sometimes an ass, too. Nothing's privileged information with him, so don't trust him with any inside intel,” Jack said, pointing an index finger for emphasis. “Just a word to the wise on that. See you later and keep in touch.”

“Will do, Jack. Thanks!” Nate called after him as he got back in his cruiser and slowly drove out.

Keep in touch,
Nate thought. He'd do that for sure because both Jack Freeman and, he hoped, Peter Clawson were great sources of information and support. He'd rather keep in touch with Sarah in more ways than one, but he knew he shouldn't.

As Nate looked off into the distance, he saw Gabe walking down the lane, carrying something in a sack. He realized he hadn't mentioned to Jack that Gabe might know Jacob's license plate number, or that he had a hunch the boy had kept something back from him about the night of the first fire. He could only hope that, like Jack had miscalculated when protecting Jacob, he himself hadn't screwed up by not grilling Gabe harder—yet.

 

After her usual Friday run to the restaurant to drop off half-moon pies, Sarah was on the road again. She was heading Sally back toward the Schrocks' house with potato salad
and pulled pork sandwiches for them and, of course, some pies. She had given half a dozen little pies to Gabe to take to Nate so they could talk privately about Jacob's license plate. And, she'd grabbed a few extras to drop off to Mike Getz and Cindee Kramer.
Mamm
said she didn't mind since she'd made so many for the auction and the barbecue.

The little gift for Cindee was the perfect excuse to get a glimpse of their back area to see if the Schrock barn could be easily spotted from there. Sarah would be able to tell if Mike was home, since their garage was so full of junk that they always parked in their small front yard. And if his truck was there, she wasn't going near the place.

Truth be told, God forgive her if she was wrong, she was hoping the arsonist was Mike Getz, just so it wasn't Jacob or anyone Amish. She didn't like the way Nate kept insisting the barn burner could be a woman. It just couldn't be Hannah, and Sarah had to convince Nate of that.

Surely Cindee's comments about Mike being able to handle the electric grill starter one-handed and the fact he knew the Schrocks were away from home meant he could be the arsonist. If the Schrock barn could not be seen from the area where Mike claimed he saw it, she sure meant to tell Nate.

Sarah kept Sally going at a good pace, because she planned to get back home soon. Some other buggies were on the road, taking folks to work. Both Mike and Cindee should be at work, so she felt quite safe. No one was going to scare her away from doing her tasks and helping Nate, too. The arsonist was a coward, one who only did his deeds in the dark.

She saw Cindee's old car and not Mike's truck, so she pulled into their driveway. Cindee must be going into work
later. Rainwater sat deep in the ditches along both sides of Fish Creek Road, but their raised blacktop driveway was dry.

Taking out the sack of pastries, Sarah climbed down and hustled around back instead of going to the front door. Because of their garage, she couldn't see the black skeleton of the burned barn, but maybe she could farther on. But no—the moment she stepped into their backyard, she could see that either Mike had lied to Cindee, or he'd spotted the fire from another position. Or maybe he'd gone over on foot to start the fire and then came back to call it in. He had called 9-1-1 quite early, and that saved the structure from the complete destruction that had ruined the Esh barn. He was a hero again. But shouldn't Cindee have known he didn't tell her the straight story?

On the other hand, what beef could Mike Getz possibly have against the Eshes or the Amish in general? Hopefully, he wasn't one of those Amish bashers who resented that her people were different. He might be a bit of what they called a redneck. But maybe an arsonist who started and fought fires for the thrill of it didn't need to hold any grudges against those he harmed.

Sarah saw the grill was an old, yellow-glazed brick structure, not a pit and not a metal one like many of the moderns and Amish used, the kind the Plain People would haul to the schoolhouse for the charity barbecue and auction. But she didn't see any fire starters here. Of course, he could have taken them inside with all the rain.

“Lookin' for something?” came a loud male voice behind her.

Startled, she spun to face Mike Getz.

 

“Sarah said I should bring you out some moon pies and that you wanted to ask me something,” Gabe told Nate.

“You want to sit down in the front seat of VERA to talk?” Nate asked.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Want one of these moon pies?”

“
Mamm
said not to eat till dinner, but there's six of them in there.”

Nate let Gabe sit in the driver's seat again while he got in the passenger's side. From his belt, he unhooked the two-way radio he kept with him in case Sarah called for some reason. He was wishing she would, not that she'd be in danger in broad daylight on her own family's farm, but just to talk. He put it on the dashboard, then opened the sack and let Gabe take a pastry before he did.

“That's not a tape recorder,” he assured the boy. “It a two-way radio, in case your sister calls me.”

“
Ya,
okay. I knew that.”

They talked with their mouths half-full, just two guys, hanging out. Nate was pleased with the relaxed feeling, not only so Gabe would open up to him but because he really liked the kid. Actually, he hadn't met a Home Valley Amish person he didn't like, but then he hadn't seen Jacob Yoder yet.

Gabe kept his free hand on the steering wheel. Nate had never interrogated a witness here before, especially not one in the driver's seat.

“Sarah mentioned that you were really good at math—at numbers,” Nate said. “You happen to remember the license plate number of Jacob Yoder's red car?”

Gabe nodded. “RGE 1297.”

Nate took his notebook from his pocket and scribbled it down.

“You gonna drive VERA around to look for him?” Gabe asked.

“You got any ideas where I could look if I took you along?”

“Only what I heard.”

“Which is?”

“It's not nearby. Just that he has a couple of English friends. Up I-77, halfway to Cleveland. I haven't been there, but I heard the general area.” He told Nate the route to cut off from the highway, even the intersection where Jacob might have a friend.

“You're a big help, Gabe. Also, I was hoping there was something else—anything would help—that you might recall from the night of the first fire when you were near the Esh barn. I could keep all of it or some of it privileged information,” he said, pointedly putting his notebook away. “But I'd really appreciate your help.”

“Like you said before—confidential?”

“Absolutely.”

Gabe sighed and wiped the hand he'd been eating with on his pants before he touched the steering wheel with it. He gripped it so hard his fingers went white at the knuckles.

“Well,” he said, “Barbara Lantz and I were in the Esh barn that night, in the loft, but we didn't do anything wrong—not about the fire, I mean.”

“I believe that. So can you help me out? Anything you saw or heard could give me a key clue.”

The boy's cheeks had gone bright red again. “At first we weren't really paying attention—about what was going on outside.”

Nate bit his lower lip and waited. He knew more was coming. It struck him that this boy was trying to express how he himself had felt when he was with Sarah in the Miller barn.

“But then I heard a car and thought it was funny—strange—so I looked out. And I saw someone get out, check the house first, then walk toward the barn. We heard the barn door open down below us and thought we were gonna get caught.”

“It was Jacob Yoder.”

“No. At first I couldn't tell who it was, in dark clothes and all. I peeked out through a crack in the haymow door. She was just standing, looking up at the barn, staring up at where—I guess—Sarah's painting must have been. Then she came inside.”

“
She
. A woman? Gabe, I need to know who you saw. I won't let on who told me.”

Gabe heaved another sigh that shook his shoulders. “When we saw who it was and that she'd know us, we got ourselves down the back ladder to the first floor and out that side door
schnell
—real quick. We ran across the field toward our barn and went in one at a time, so I don't know what happened after that, but I—I been wondering.”

“Was it your sister's friend, Hannah Esh?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Logan. You know, who runs the restaurant in town.”

 

Mike must have just pulled up in front, Sarah thought as her insides lurched. She'd overstepped. She'd risked too much. She was so used to everything being safe around here. And she was so unused to having a phone in the buggy that she'd grabbed the pastry sack but had come back here
without what she really needed. Not that she could have phoned Nate for help right in front of Mike Getz, anyway. She'd have to talk her way out of this without a call to Nate.

“I just wanted to see the place you were working about the time you spotted the barn fire,” she said, forcing a small smile. “Cindee told me.” She was amazed her voice sounded so calm, when he really scared her. He looked big and bulky with his bull neck and his fists clenched at his sides. “I told Mr. Clawson I don't want my picture in the paper for spotting the first fire, but I thought—if you had a good place for a photo somewhere around here—I'd tell him to just use yours for spotting the second one instead.”

She knew she was saying too much, but she couldn't help herself. He had her blocked in by the garage, the big brick grill and a board fence. Yet if someone glanced back at the right angle from the road, they could be seen, so he wouldn't dare to hurt her, would he? And wasn't Cindee home?

“You know how my people are about photos and interviews,” she rushed on, “but you gave those Cleveland TV reporters such good ones, I was hoping you wouldn't mind more. Only—I didn't want to just ask Mr. Clawson before I looked around to see if there was a spot for it.”

“I think it'd be better over by the ruins of the barn,” he said. He still frowned, but he shrugged his big, rounded shoulders and finally unclenched his fists. “Yeah, okay by me if Mr. Clawson says so.”

“The other thing is,” she said, extending her sack of half-moon pies toward him, “I told Cindee when I bought paint for another quilt square that I'd bring you both some of these, so she was expecting me.”

“Yeah, well, she had car trouble so we switched for the day. She's at the hardware store.”