In Plain View (36 page)

Then she would find Joel.

As she expected, she solved the technology glitch at the newspaper in a matter of seconds. She left the print copy of the ad as a backup. The whole transaction took no more than four minutes. Joel could not have gotten far.

In jeans and sneakers, it was simple enough to power walk a few blocks, detouring down a side street to avoid passing Mrs. Weichert’s shop for the time being. She caught up with Joel as he ducked into the coffee shop.

This was the place where the puzzle pieces had fallen into place just a few minutes too late only four days ago. Annie tugged on the glass door and followed Joel in. A moment later she touched his elbow.

Down the block, Rufus set the packets of sandpaper under the seat of the small buggy. Only then did he remember his promise to his mother to bring home coffee beans. He glanced toward the coffee shop, smiling at the notion of taking his mother the gourmet beans she would never buy for herself.

Outside the plate glass window a few minutes later, Rufus paused. Shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, he peered through—and saw Joel.

And Annalise. They stood close together, their faces somber.

And Annalise was holding the tiny chisel from the set he had lost weeks ago.

Slowly, Rufus opened the door and stepped into the coffee shop. He approached Joel and Annalise.

“Tomorrow.” Annalise thrust the chisel toward Joel. “Period. No discussion. Or I use this.”

Joel turned, met Rufus’s eyes, and strode out of the shop. Rufus did not try to stop him. It was Annalise he wanted to talk to now.

She looked shocked to see him and shoved the chisel into her pocket.

“That looked like a serious conversation.”

“Yes, it was.”

Rufus sucked in his bottom lip then pushed it out. If Annalise had been wearing an Amish dress, she would not have been able to hide anything from him. Did she understand the isolation that came with keeping a secret?

“Annalise, why do you have one of my lost chisels?”

She puffed her cheeks as she blew out her breath. “Rufus, can you trust me for one day?”

“And my chisel?”

“I promise you will have the whole set back tomorrow. Just trust me.”

He did trust her. He was less sure about Joel. The two of them were up to something.

“Tomorrow, then.”

At four o’clock on Saturday afternoon, Annie shoved a rake into the garden soil Rufus had tilled for her two weeks earlier. Nothing was planted yet. She was not accomplishing anything in particular, other than keeping herself distracted.

Four o’clock. If Joel thought she was going to wait until the stroke of midnight before taking action, she would not hesitate to straighten him out. She pounded the points of the rake into the ground three times with particular fierceness.

Two more hours. That was the absolute outside limit.

Annie did not hear the car pull into her driveway in front of the house, but she did hear the doors slamming. Joel would have a lot of gall to show up in a car. She let the rake drop and stormed around the side of the house. Her parents’ silver Toyota was parked in the driveway.

“Mom! Dad!”

“You scared us half to death with that note.” Myra charged toward Annie and gripped her around the shoulders. “We came as soon as we got your letter.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying not to scare you.” Annie stepped out of her mother’s grasp and lifted a cheek to her father’s kiss.

“You used to be familiar with an invention called the telephone.” Myra inspected her daughter from head to toe. “Surely getting caught in an explosion qualifies as an emergency.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have found a phone.” Annie wiped her hands on her jeans.

“You should
carry
a phone.”

“Daddy, isn’t this your golf day?”

“I was headed to the golf course when your mother showed me the note.”

“I ruined your golf game. I’m a crummy daughter.”

Brad Friesen shook his head. “No, you’re not. Puzzling, perhaps. We’re just grateful to see that you’re all right.”

Myra held out an envelope. “Liam-Ryder Industries is still after you.”

Annie propped her rake up against the green shingle siding, brushed her gloved hands together, and took the envelope. She would open it later. At some point she would have to tell them with finality that she was not interested.

“Come on inside,” Annie said. “Let me clean up and I’ll tell you what happened—though I told you most of it in my letter.”

While Annie washed up, her mother brewed a pot of coffee. Annie found a box of crackers in the cabinet and sliced up some cheddar cheese and an apple she had meant to eat two days ago and arranged everything on a platter. Then starting at the beginning, she told her parents about the day of the explosion. The task was more difficult than she imagined, since she decided to leave out information about her own suspicions or her deal with Joel.

“It’s entirely unfair for anyone to accuse you.” Myra was adamant.

Of course Annie agreed.

“Brad, perhaps we ought to drop in at the sheriff ’s office. Where do you suppose that would be?”

“Mom, please don’t. The police don’t seriously suspect me. It’s just rumor, and it will blow over.”

“You can still come home for a while,” Myra suggested.

“Mom,” Annie said quietly, “I am home.”

Mother and daughter locked eyes. Only a rap on the front door pulled Annie’s gaze away. She got up to answer the knock.

“Franey!” Annie glanced over her shoulder at her parents sitting on her sofa. It would be rude not to invite Franey in. With an inward wince, Annie stepped aside. “Mom, Dad, you remember Franey Beiler.”

Brad was on his feet and extended his hand, which Franey shook.

“I only just heard,” Franey said, turning to Annie. “You never said a word, you sneaky thing.”

“About what?” Annie asked.

“The baptism classes, of course.” Franey pressed Annie against her chest. “I’m so pleased. I’m sure Rufus will be delighted, too.”

Annie stepped out of Franey’s embrace and smoothed her hair with both hands.

Myra cleared her throat. “Annie, perhaps we should offer Franey some refreshment. I’ll be happy to help you in the kitchen.”

“Please sit down,” Annie said, gesturing to the chair she had vacated. “We’ll be right back.”

“Baptism classes?” Myra hissed in the kitchen. “When were you going to mention that?”

“I can explain, Mom. I went to see the bishop about something else, and everything got mixed up. I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

“You seem to have agreed to join the classes.” Myra composed herself, swallowing hard. “I know enough about the Amish to know that baptism means you are joining the church.”

Annie straightened her shoulders. “Yes, that is what it means.”

“You could be baptized in our church at home, you know. You don’t have to join the Amish to be baptized.”

“I know. But to join the Amish church it is required.”

“But this is what you want?”

Annie nodded slowly.

The door opened, and Brad stuck his head into the kitchen. “Franey has just invited us all for supper. I said yes.”

Thirty-Nine

April 1778

T
he rhythm of a team pulling a wagon gathered in the distance, eventually disturbing Christian Byler’s prayer thread and causing him to open his eyes as he sat in his favorite outdoor chair. Amish clatter, Patriot clatter, British clatter—it all sounded the same at this stage. Over the years his wife’s suggestion that he cut down the tree at the end of their lane became more insistent, but so far Christian resisted. Whatever came down the road would come whether they could see it or not, and their response would be the same. So why sacrifice a tree whose wood they did not need?

The ruckus slowed enough that Christian knew the wagon would turn into his lane. A moment later, he recognized Jacob in the raised seat. The woman beside him was not Katie, though. Christian had not seen Jacob’s wife in years, but a woman did not change her frame and coloring.

Christian stood and waited for the wagon. Jacob pulled the team to a stop, set the wagon’s brake, and jumped down. Christian’s eyes never left the woman, who was slower to descend. Jacob said nothing but simply stepped aside.

Christian had seen those black curls on only one woman’s head. “Maria,” he murmured.

She smiled awkwardly.

The dress she wore was not Amish, but he had long ago given up that hope. Was she alive? That had been the specter question, and now he had his answer.

“You certainly took the long way back from the creek,” Christian said, a smile forming at one end of his mouth.

“In the end, though, I came home.” Maria moved slowly toward him.

All the moments Maria missed crashed through Christian. His entire marriage to Lizzie. The death of Lizzie. His wedding to Babsi. The births of all his children. The baptisms of his older children, all of whom honored him when they chose the Amish way for themselves. The close community of families who understood their old ways. The young men who might have courted her.

Christian swallowed hard. She was here now. Maria was here.

“You must come inside,” he said. “Babsi—my wife—will want to meet you.”

Within an hour the house was full. A couple of the children went running to find the others in gardens and fields and barns. Christian’s married children rolled into the farm in wagons of their own, with their offspring raising the noise level in the yard. To them, Christian knew, Maria was more folklore than family. She was the mysterious sister who disappeared and was never found. She was the one about whom everyone wondered but few spoke.

Christian watched Maria’s every move—the sweep of a hand familiar from childhood, a laugh matured but as easily provoked as in years gone by, the hair that refused taming, the violet-blue eyes of their mother.

Magdalena was on foot, as usual. She preferred the simplicity of walking where she wanted to go. Walking alone for miles every day pressed her anxieties out through her extremities. And if she took a little longer than usual for an errand, no one remarked. If occasionally a loaf of bread or a jar of preserves or a jug of cider did not make it to its intended recipient, so be it. It went to good use.

With the British army garrisoned in Philadelphia, demand for food and basic supplies multiplied. At first, Magdalena diverted the occasional bag of flour or corn. At the harvesttime last fall, this was easy enough to do. Over the winter, she watched Nathanael’s empty cabin. His family still tried to farm some of his acreage, but no one paid attention to the structure. When Magdalena offered to dust the place from time to time in case Nathanael should decide to move into it, no one objected.

No one believed Nathanael would move into the cabin. Not after three and a half years. If he did not marry, he would not move from his parents’ home.

So Magdalena gathered foodstuffs there. Brazenly, she carried hot coals from her own family’s hearth and built a fire in Nathan’s cabin, where she cooked three dozen loaves of bread and four cakes before passing them to a farmer whose name she Did not know. He took a wagon of goods to the outskirts of Philadelphia, where British troops were eager to have them.