Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (9 page)

Naomi crimped the foil around the metal pan to keep the lemony chicken casserole nice and warm for the evening meal. With each pinch, words popped into her head. Spring. Blue. Daffodils. Silly words that began to pair up into phrases.

Blue skies smiled.

Daffodils danced.

Hearts collided.

She shook her head at her wayward thoughts. Her skin prickled even now at the memory of Samuel dancing her around the kitchen. Not really dancing, yet he had held her in his arms. Only to keep her from falling.

A creak of a floorboard brought her back to reality. Hannah came into the kitchen, holding one of her babies against her shoulder.

“Can I get you anything?” Naomi asked.

“
Danke
, Naomi,” Hannah gave a tired smile, “you are such a godsend. Did you know that?”

“I’m happy to go where God asks.” Naomi pulled the cherry crunch from the oven. “Would you like some lemonade?”

“I should be helping you.”

“Not to worry.” Carefully, Naomi set the pan on the stove, the cherry filling bubbling up around the crumbly topping, and she sprinkled on bits of walnuts. “I forgot to add these.”

“That’s easy to do anytime. It smells delicious. You have spoiled me rotten.”

“Every new mother needs rest and some pampering, so Mother says. I’m just glad to be able to help you, Hannah.”

“Someday, I hope I can help you when you’ve got a little one.” Hannah smiled.

But Naomi felt the needle of reality piercing her dream. She hid the deep ache, which she seemed to be doing more and more.

Hannah gently shifted her baby, peeking down at the sweet, slumbering features. “Levi was saying what a mighty fine lunch you fixed. Beef and noodles is his favorite. You’ll make a fine wife and mother one day.”

“If it’s God’s plan.” The words tasted sour in her mouth. Bitterness, like milk left out on the counter, turned quickly and benefitted nothing. Naomi forced a smile. “I’m delighted Levi liked it.”

“We should let Samuel know dinner is almost ready.” The baby stirred and Hannah joggled him, patting his back until a soft burp came from the parted lips. “Is he at the barn?”

“I don’t believe he’s here at all.”

Hannah’s eyebrow went up in question.

Naomi shoved the pan back into the oven. “Samuel took off on that motorbike. I would have thought you heard it too. It’s awful loud.”

Hannah’s expression closed like a door. “Maybe Levi sent him on an errand. Well, we’ll save him some dessert for when he returns.”

Nodding, Naomi kept her questions to herself. What was there to say? It wasn’t her business where Samuel had gone. And yet, she wondered.

Her feelings for him at one time had been infatuation. He’d liked her. And she’d liked him. Or so she had believed. But they had been young, awkward, inexperienced, passing glances back and forth at singings and other social events in the district. She’d helped him with schoolwork in the meadow beside Hallelujah Creek. He’d even surprised her with a late-night visit when they were beginning their running around years. She had believed they would court, get baptized, and then marry. Then things had changed.

Now, although she was still just as inexperienced, she understood more about relationships. She’d watched her sister Grace and other friends being courted over the years. No one in their district talked openly of such things. It was done quietly, often in secret, but one who paid attention could learn much.

After Jacob Fisher died, Samuel and his parents had left town almost immediately, which had not afforded her even the chance to offer condolences, especially because there had been no funeral to speak of. In fact, many had spoken in hushed tones about the oddity of the situation. Most had agreed that the sudden and senseless death had been too much for Jonas Fisher. The loss of a son at such a young age might have made any of them behave in peculiar ways.

At first, her teenage sensibilities had been wounded, because Samuel never even said good-bye. But she’d let go of any hurt years ago. How did she know what it was like to lose a sibling? To up and move so far away from what you’d always known as home? To have your family split? Over the years, she’d come to understand grief and suspected Samuel’s interest had been eclipsed. She’d prayed for him and his family to find peace.

Of course, there had been no promises between them, and she held nothing against Samuel for his actions or lack thereof. The whole experience, however, had made her wary of stoking an infatuation again, and she’d kept her eyes off boys. Her older sister had chided her gently that she should be more encouraging, but that only pretzeled her nerves. So she’d kept to herself and ended up feeling lonely as many of her friends paired off, and most had already married.

Seeing Samuel again brought all those sheltered feelings from deep inside her heart to the surface. She hadn’t realized those feelings still existed—feelings that made her hope his return was an answered prayer.

“Can you hold Gabe for a moment?” Hannah asked.

“Hmm?” Stirred out of her thoughts, Naomi wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course.” She reached for the baby, taking the bundle into her arms and cradling him close to her body. The newborn fussed for a moment, then quieted. Naomi smiled down at the infant and cooed nonsensical words to him. He was such a beautiful baby to behold that watching him sleep made her chest ache with longing. Babies were a special blessing from the Lord.

After a minute or so, Hannah emerged from the pantry. “I thought I had—” She stopped when her gaze landed on Naomi. “Is everything all right?”

It felt as if she wore her emotions plastered on her sleeves, and Naomi attempted to erase her hopes and wishes but her embarrassment only deepened. Her skin tingled and grew hot beneath Hannah’s studious gaze. She pretended to fuss over the baby.

Rushing forward, Hannah asked, “Something’s wrong. What is it, Naomi?”

Flustered by the question and attention, she angled around toward the stove. “It’s warm in here is all.”

“It is indeed,” Hannah finally said. “I thought it was just me.” She set a five-pound bag of sugar on the counter and unlatched the window above the sink, pushing it open. Then she turned on the faucet and filled the sink with sudsy water.

“Oh, I’ll take care of that, Hannah.”

“I don’t mind.” Hannah pushed up her sleeves and plunged her hands in the water. “Feels good to get my hands good and clean. Might as well scrub the pots at the same time. Gabe looks like he’s finally content. He’s been fussy this afternoon. He had a gas bubble, I reckon.”

Naomi readjusted the blanket around the rosy-cheeked baby. “Do you think Samuel will be back?” She could have bit her tongue for asking such a question, but the words had tumbled out before she’d thought. “I mean—”

“Of course he’ll be back.” Hannah offered an understanding smile. “Samuel is trustworthy. He simply went on an errand for Levi. He’ll be back. Don’t you worry.”

Despite the cooling breeze drifting in through the open window, Naomi felt her pulse pounding in her temples. She turned away and walked the perimeter of the kitchen, giving a light bounce to her step for the baby’s sake. “I wasn’t really worried, I just wondered…” She shouldn’t be wondering about Samuel Fisher at all. “I mean…”

A warm, damp hand touched her arm, and Naomi looked into Hannah’s kind brown eyes. “He’s a nice man, Naomi. I’m glad he’s come home to Promise.”

This time, she kept her thoughts to herself, but in her heart she heard the whispered words—
me
too
.

Stunned by the blow to his chest, Samuel lay flat out, unable to move or breathe. His chest pinched as if his lungs had collapsed, then slowly, by tiny, painful degrees, his chest expanded and dank air seeped back into his lungs. He stared at a wickedly sharp object aimed right at his throat, but the bright light above blinded him from seeing who held it.

Scuffling noises surrounded him.

“What happened?” A new voice came from above him, from the hole he’d fallen through. “Who is that?”

“How do I know? A shoe nudged his leg. “Who are ya? Speak up before I ram you through.”

“Samuel,” he managed, coughing again, his side aching with the effort. “Samuel Fisher.”

“What are you boys doing?” a commanding voice, distinct from the others, boomed from above. “Let him up. Bring him on up here.”

Strong, rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. Stern faces spun around him. The room where he’d fallen was small, like a dugout beneath the porch, and was made even smaller by the other men crowding around him. A rope ladder hurled downward, and someone shoved Samuel toward it.

His limbs protesting, he struggled but finally grasped hold of the rope. His foot slipped once, and the rope’s rough edges scraped his shin. Slowly, he started to climb toward the rosy light. When he emerged back onto the front porch, feeling shaky and tense, Samuel looked into a familiar face.

The man clapped him on his bruised shoulder. “Good to see you, Samuel.”

“Father Hellman?” He faltered and blinked. “Is it really you?”

“It’s been a while.” Roberto Hellman gave a toothy grin, the white collar at his throat brighter than his teeth. “But once you go through life and death with someone, it’s not like either will ever forget, eh?”

Samuel nodded, swallowing hard, and tried to get his bearings. He leaned against the railing, felt the deep ache in his side and the skin on his shoulder scraped raw.

“You hurt?” The priest’s gaze settled on the arm Samuel cradled.

“Nah. I’m okay. I think.” Samuel released his arm, wincing, as it relaxed and hung loosely at his side. He flexed and fisted his hand a couple of times, testing and stretching the muscles. Nothing seemed broken, but he suspected he’d have a few bruises by tomorrow. “I’m fine. But what are you doing here?”

Three men emerged, one by one, from the hole and joined two others on the porch. They had serious faces, wary gazes. A couple had dark skin, the others varying degrees of light; some stood tall, others shorter; all had thick muscles, shaved heads, and wore plain blue jeans and black T-shirts. He had no doubt these men might have killed him if not for the priest’s intervention. They circled around Samuel, keeping a distance and yet stayed close enough—too close for Samuel’s comfort.

“Shawn”—the priest nodded toward someone behind Samuel—“go get Roc.”

The sound of his friend’s name brought relief. The young blond who looked even younger than Samuel jogged off. Roberto waved at the hole in the porch, and two of the men looped a thin rope behind the trapdoor and raised it up until it clicked into place.

“Nice trick,” Samuel said.

“Isn’t it?” Roberto beamed. “Guess you’re wondering what’s going on here, who we all are. Think of these as my own personal monks.”

“Monks?” one very burly man protested.

“I’ll let Roc explain,” the priest said. “But in answer to your previous question, Samuel, I’m here helping Roc.”

“Helping him?”

One of the men cleared his throat.

“Yes, of course,” Roberto responded to the prompt. “We’re all here helping Roc. You all get back to work now. I’ll hook up with you soon. Don’t worry about this fellow.” He settled a hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “He’s the one that shot Akiva.”

Those words stabbed Samuel with guilt, but the gazes staring at him shifted from suspicion to guarded respect. Instantly, Samuel hated each one of them.

Following the priest’s orders, the group backed away. A couple leaped over the porch railing, and the others jogged down the front steps. They fell into step with one another, walking side by side, two by two, like soldiers, and hooked a right at the corner of the house. One glanced back and received a reassuring nod from Roberto.

“They look more militaristic than religious.”

The priest laughed. “They do indeed. I call them a hit squad.”

The comment surprised Samuel.
What
was
going
on
here?
But before he could ask any more questions, the front door to the house opened and Samuel turned, unsure what might pop out at him next.

Rachel stepped out on the porch. With a relaxed smile, she greeted Samuel, carefully stepping around the trapdoor. She wore her hair pulled back, but she no longer wore Amish clothes. Instead, she wore a long skirt and loose sweater. “How are you, Samuel?”

He brushed the dirt off his trousers and jacket. “Okay. I guess.”

She looked toward the yard. “Did you walk here?”

He shook his head, which felt like it was spinning from all the surprises. “No, I…um…rode. My motorcycle.”

“Roc will want to take it for a spin if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Yes. Of course.”

She moved toward the railing beside Father Roberto. “Where did you park?”

“I came a different route.”

She quirked a brow. “Levi’s path?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“He believes in precautions,” Father Roberto said.

“I’ll have Roc give you better directions for next time.” Her easy smile and calm demeanor helped him start to relax.

She watched him, her brow crinkling. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded too enthusiastically, burning off nervous energy. “Fine.”

“You weren’t hurt by…” She eyed the place in the porch where the planks could give way.

“He’s tough,” Father Roberto testified.

“Be careful where you step,” she warned. “There are other traps around.”

“Now don’t go telling all our secrets.” The priest grinned.

Samuel struggled to find something to say. The aftermath of Jacob’s death had been so intense that it made the mundane awkward. The weight of so much loss—Jacob and Rachel’s first husband, Josef—settled on Samuel’s chest. Too many had died. And for what? What was the purpose? Was there some connection in all this hurt?

He rubbed a hand over his face to erase the dark thoughts and tried to focus on things more suitable for conversation. “How is…uh, David?”

Rachel smiled, her eyes twinkling at the mention of her six-month-old son. “He’s growing like a weed. You’ll see him later when he wakes from his nap. Would you like to come in? I have a cinnamon crumb cake fresh out of the—”

A dark blur dropped from the roof and landed with a thud on the porch, jarring the planks. Every muscle in Samuel’s body clenched tight. Rachel gave a shriek. Father Roberto dropped into a defensive posture and aimed a wooden stake he yanked from his jacket at the blur, which solidified into a black-clad Roc.

“What’s going on here?” Samuel asked, bewildered by all the crazy antics—floors dropping away and roof jumpers descending.
What
was
next?

Rachel batted Roc’s shoulder. “You scared the daylights out of me. Samuel too.”

“Sorry, darlin’.” Roc Girouard hooked an arm around his wife’s waist and kissed her on the cheek, making her flush with either pleasure or exasperation. Turning solid brown eyes on Samuel, Roc grinned, the planes of his cheeks creasing with ease. “Thanks for dropping in, Samuel. Good to see you.”

“What’s with all the…” Speechless, Samuel stared up at the roof, searching for the right word. Two more shaved heads peered down at him.

Roc clasped Samuel’s shoulder and moved him into the house. “Just a few things we’re testing.”

“Roc likes to keep us on our toes.” Rachel trailed behind her husband, Samuel, and Father Roberto.

“How’s Levi feeling?” Roc asked, the door closing behind them.

“Good. Well, not so good. It will take some time. Falling off the roof…” Glances shifted between the others and made Samuel’s voice trail off. “What’s the matter? Did I say something?”

“Not at all.” Roc indicated a chair at the table and seated himself at the head. “How are your folks?”

“The same.” It was a careful answer, one he figured Roc would understand.

“And your girl? Andi?” Roc had met her when he was staying at Samuel’s parents’ home in Ohio. He’d interrupted them in the barn late one night.

At the memory, Samuel felt heat burn its way up his neck. He shrugged in answer to Roc’s question, not knowing what to say or frankly where she was at the moment. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left Ohio.

“Who would like some coffee and cinnamon crumb cake?” Rachel asked.

The men agreed. While Rachel served the dessert along with cups of hot, black coffee, Roc went to check on the baby and came back carrying David, who had deep blue eyes like his mother. Samuel was introduced to the little tyke, and then Roc placed the baby in a high chair between Roc and Rachel. They alternately fed bits of cut-up grapes and buttered bread to their little boy, who babbled and cooed.

After what all four of them had experienced back in Ohio, it felt odd to be sitting here, enjoying a normal, carefree moment. Rachel kept the conversation going with questions about Hannah’s babies, and Samuel tried to answer as best he could.

“I’ll send some fresh baked bread home with you. With so many more mouths to feed, it’ll come in handy.”

Samuel nodded, not bothering to explain how he’d have to climb that ravine to get to his motorcycle and then there wouldn’t be much of a place to put the bread. But he’d make do. He finished the crumb cake and pushed the plate away. “So what’s going on here, Roc?”

“I think the best way to explain would be to show you.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” the priest asked.

Roc leaned toward Samuel. “Did you bring your motorcycle?”

“You wanna ride?”

Roc grinned. “Absolutely.”