Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (4 page)

Giant tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, running down her cheeks.

“Andi?”
What
had
he
done? What should he do?
He rubbed his palms down his thighs and cleared the uncomfortable tightness in his throat. He should be used to women crying. Mamm often turned away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. Usually Samuel gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder or (and he was ashamed to admit this) sometimes he simply pretended he hadn’t seen the pain or tears in her eyes. But Andi…he’d never seen her even sniffle.

Wiping her eyes, she waved a hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to do this.” She dug around in her purse. “I just…I don’t know.” She tipped her head sideways and dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just miss you is all.”

Without any more thoughts or questions, he slid out of his side of the booth and eased in next to her, wrapping an arm around her. She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he breathed in the flowery scent of her hair. When she lifted her head to look at him, his gaze rested on her parted lips, and he couldn’t help himself. He tasted her once more.

Outside the window sporting a sign about Cincinnati chili, dark, heavy-lidded eyes watched the couple.

Brydon liked observing people, especially before he dined on them. It somehow made the experience that much tastier. And he had been watching Samuel for a long while. Longer than usual. He’d been more patient than was his natural course, but this one he could take his time with. This one was special.

He wanted the moment to be right.

During his years as a cop back in New Orleans, he’d learned the chase gave him the most fun. Once he’d caught a criminal, he felt a letdown. The anticipation…the hunt…that was the thrill. So he would wait…and enjoy getting revenge on Akiva. He only wished Akiva could witness it.

Akiva should have let Brydon, a rogue vampire, die. He’d wanted to die. He’d allowed Roc to slit his throat. But Akiva had brought a blood sacrifice, and as weak and near death as he’d been, Brydon had drunk fully of the offering and revived. He’d then owed Akiva, which had been the purpose. He’d drawn the line though and refused to kill Roc, his ex-partner on the police force.

He hadn’t exactly felt sorrow when Akiva or Giovanni had been destroyed. But at that point, he’d recognized the position in which Akiva had placed him. So, Brydon nursed the hatred and resentment growing inside him, and he’d begun following Akiva’s little brother, Samuel.

Killing him would be simple, and yet he’d begun to feed a new idea: transforming Samuel. That might be the best revenge of all. Akiva had hated being a vamp—as had Brydon at first—until he gave in and learned to appreciate the benefits. It would be fitting for Akiva’s younger brother to become one. Samuel clung to his Amish white-bread existence. What a shock it would be for him to learn there was a whole new world, a world he’d never imagined. Samuel would appreciate the salvation of an awakening and embrace all that this kind of life promised and provided.

And if Akiva was watching from hell, then he’d burn even hotter at the sight.

Samuel awoke with a start.

He jerked upright and shook himself. A kink knotted his back and neck, and he shifted and stretched, sitting upright at Andi’s kitchen table. He rubbed his jaw, and stubble scraped his palm. A dream pressed into his mind like the edge of the book imprinted on the side of his face where he’d slept. His dreams had turned dark and sinister, reflecting either his reading material or all he’d seen the night Jacob died.

No clock was needed to tell him night nuzzled morning; he knew from his years of being awakened for chores. Pushing up from the chair, his muscles stiff, he gathered the books about creatures of the night: demons, witches, legends, myths, and the fuzzy line between this world and the next. He stuffed the hardbound books back into his leather satchel, slipped on his crumpled shirt, and tied his work boots.

He’d followed Andi home and they’d gone straight to her bed. It had felt good to hold her again, to lose himself in the tastes and scents and touch of her, to forget, even for a few minutes, all the thoughts and feelings wrestling inside him.

After she’d fallen asleep, he’d slipped out of bed, tugged on his jeans, and settled at her kitchen table. There, he’d opened the library books and had begun to read until his eyes grew bleary. He’d fallen into crazy dreams of being chased and chasing something he couldn’t name, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand.

Scribbling her a note now, he left it on her pillow, brushed the hair back from her face, and kissed her bare shoulder. She sighed and rolled over, revealing the soft curve of a breast before scrunching down further under the covers. Maybe he’d made a mistake breaking it off with her a few months ago. He’d missed her more than he had realized.

Careful not to close the door too hard and risk waking her, he then made the hour drive back to his folks, which took even longer on the slick, icy roads. Pop was just entering the barn when Samuel parked behind the structure. He left his satchel of books attached to the motorcycle, not wanting to frighten Mamm or Pop if they were to find them. He went straight into the barn and began doling out feed.

Linda stood in her stall watching for him, her breath steamy in the morning chill. She eyed him with those limpid brown eyes and nosed his arm. “You as hungry as I am this morning?” He chuckled and poured the feed into her bucket. As she snuffled around in the oats, he rubbed her neck and scratched along her mane. When he turned around, he pulled up short. “Good morning, Pop.”

His father stood in the stall’s opening as if he’d been watching him for a few moments. “You are a hard worker, Samuel. Never missing work. Even when you stay out awful late, as you did last night.”

The usual accusation was there but it ricocheted off Samuel. “No reason anyone else should suffer on my account.”

“It grieves your mother, this carrying on with an
English
girl.” He raised his hand to stop Samuel’s protest. “It matters not how I know. Word travels.”

Old news, like a withered grape, still lingered on the grapevine. Samuel rubbed the mare’s nose, readjusted its bridle, anything but look at his father.

“There are nice girls here in Harmony Hollow,” Pop said. “Girls who share your faith. Girls of marrying age.”

His faith. And what was that? Samuel’s lips twisted with the effort to control an outburst. “Pop, I’m not interested—”

“Are you planning on marrying her then? This
English
girl? Bringing her into our family and district?” He said it as if Andi were a disease, as if bringing her to their home would expose the family to some horrible malady—the way Pop believed Jacob had.

“She has a name.”

Pop said nothing.

“Andi,” Samuel supplied, anger rising in him. It rankled him that all his father would ever see would be their differences. Pop saw life in black and white, never gray. But that’s all Samuel could see. “Her name is Andi.”

Frown lines pulled and stretched Pop’s features downward. “A boy’s name?” Then his eyes widened. “Is it—?”

Samuel laughed, but humor remained aloof. Pop would never accept an
Englisher
in his family any more than he’d ever accepted Jacob’s questions. With Pop, you either adhered to the law—his law—or you were bound for hell. For the first time, Samuel felt a true kinship with his dead brother.

“It is not a funny matter, Jacob.”

Samuel felt the air around him shatter. “I’m not Jacob, Pop. But even if I was, it would be better than being like you.”

Pop blustered, cleared his throat. “I didn’t…” He broke off, unable to finish. Finally, he said, “How will you explain this…this…
Englisher
to your mother?”

“There’s no way Andi would ever come here. So don’t worry about that.” He exited the stall, brushing past his father and scooping up the next bucket of feed.

Pop trailed him. “Are you going to turn your back on your family, your beliefs, your district then?”

With an exhausted sigh, Samuel dumped in the grains and straightened. He had wanted to avoid this discussion, especially when his stomach was growling, but it might as well be said. He faced his father, meeting his unrelenting gaze, and the banked fire in his gut ignited again. “Those are your beliefs, Pop. Not mine.”

His father blanched, his skin turning as white as the hairs in his beard. Samuel might as well have slapped his father hard across the cheek. He’d gone too far. Maybe his father’s beliefs weren’t his
yet
. Maybe they never would be. The fact was, Samuel didn’t know what he believed anymore. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t explain his feelings to his father, who would never understand and would only condemn them.

Back when Jacob was alive and living under the same roof, heated words were often hurled across the kitchen table. Jacob had dared voice his questions. Slammed doors and disapproving gazes followed. Like kindling, Samuel had taken the explanations and questions and laid them on the angry fire in his heart. He didn’t know if he’d ever embrace his father’s beliefs; Jacob never had. Pressure to conform and rebel yanked him in two directions. A white picket fence divided his world and poked at him. At some point, he’d have to make a decision and climb over into the serene yet penned pasture of the Amish or into the wide expanse of freedom beyond, in the
English
world.

But now was not the time. Backpedaling, Samuel said, “There’s more out there than what I’ve been taught. Jacob knew it and—”

“
Ja
, and Jacob paid the ultimate price. Have you not heard of the tree of knowledge of good and evil? There are some things not worth knowing.”

Arguing was pointless. “Jacob went to learn what he’d missed, and I am trying to understand so I can make a more informed decision before I bury myself in some district—”

“Is that what you think I’ve done?”

Samuel could no longer meet his father’s gaze. “You lied to me.”

Pop stepped back as if struck.

“You lied to me about Jacob.”

For a long moment, Pop remained quiet.
Was
he
trying
to
figure
out
an
answer, an excuse?
It didn’t matter. Nothing could explain it away. Samuel slammed the lid back on the feed bin. Pop would never admit he’d been wrong. That wasn’t his way.

“Would you”—Pop’s voice sounded brittle—“would you break your mother’s heart by going down the same destructive prodigal path?”

Guilt rose inside him like steam. How easily his father could stoke that fire. Samuel wanted to ask, “What about your heart, Pop? Would you care?” but he dared not. In some ways, his question was born more of a desperate plea rather than anger, but Pop would never understand that either. “Why are you asking me this today?” he asked. “I still have chores.”

The corners of Pop’s firm mouth pinched tight. “Because I must take a trip.”

“A trip?” Rarely did Amish leave their homes or travel. Moving the family, or part of the family, from Pennsylvania to Ohio had not been the usual actions of a man steadfast in his Amish faith. “Where?”

“Will you be here to watch over your mother and take care of the workshop?”

Amish husbands and fathers didn’t just go off and leave their families and businesses. “What’s happened?”

His father sighed wearily. His shoulders, narrow and thin, seemed to carry the weight of the world. “It’s Levi.”

Of course, they’d been sent word that Hannah, Levi’s wife, had delivered twin boys. “Something wrong with the babies?”

“Nah, the boys are healthy and strong. Although Mother would like to go and see her first grandbabies, which I suppose would be good for her, it is a long journey.”

And Samuel knew neither would leave him alone for fear of what he would do. The words never had to be spoken, but Samuel understood the unspoken message. Regret heaped on top of his guilt.

But something must have happened. “Then what about Levi,” Samuel asked, “is causing you to go back?”

“If you’d been home last night instead of off who knows where, then you would have been here when we got word.”

Samuel pressed his lips together and kept from arguing.

Pop finally said, “Levi took a fall. Broke some ribs.”

Samuel’s muscles tensed and he felt a deep ache for his oldest brother. Then suspicion clouded his thoughts. Was Pop telling the truth?

“He’ll be all right in time.” Pop waved away what he read as Samuel’s fears. “But he needs his rest. Since he and Hannah bought that farm, it’s a critical time for planting,
ja
? So I’ll go and help out as I can. You stay with your mother while I am gone and—”

“No, Pop.”

His father’s eyes registered shock, bulging slightly.

The urge to leave welled up inside him. Whether Pop was telling the truth or not, Samuel had to do this. He needed to get away, to see Levi again, to think about his life on his own terms. But again, he couldn’t explain that to Pop, so he simply said, “You should stay here with Mamm. Levi is my brother. I’ll go. Besides, I can travel faster and easier on my motorcycle. I’ll be there in half the time you would by bus or train.”

Pop’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a good idea. Levi expects me—”

“What are you afraid of, Pop?” Exasperation got the better of Samuel. It was one of those off-handed comments that he immediately regretted. He’d mouthed off, much the same way Jacob used to do, and now he braced himself for his father’s wrath. But for the first time in Samuel’s life, he didn’t see his father jerk his chin defensively. Instead, the look in the older man’s eyes twisted something in Samuel’s gut. He read fear—fear mixed with sorrow.

Of course, Samuel understood. Pop feared losing another son the way Samuel feared losing his only other brother. Jacob’s death had changed their lives forever.

“If you go,” Pop said, his voice deeper than usual, “will you come back?”

Maybe Pop wanted him to go. Maybe he had planned this, knowing Samuel would volunteer. Maybe it was all a ploy to get him away from the English girlfriend and save his soul.
Would
Pop
lie
about
Levi? Yes
, Samuel decided,
he
would.
His father would do anything to get his way. Samuel jammed his hands in his pants pockets. “I don’t know.”