Return of the prodigal “Englisher”

After years on the Philadelphia Police Force, Elijah Miller thought he’d left his Amish past behind. But when the murder of a young Amish girl starts to raise suspicions, Eli has no choice but to investigate. He’ll do his duty, even if it means facing the father who won’t speak to him—and the woman who rejected him. Hannah Nolt is just as beautiful as Eli remembers, and this time, running away from his feelings for her is no longer an option. Because Hannah’s in danger, and needs protection only Eli can provide.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“Can it be? Elijah Miller? After all these years?”

“It is.” He struggled to speak. Seeing her after all this time had sucked the air from his lungs. “How are you, Hannah?”

She tilted her head to the side, her grin widening. “How long have you been home? I haven’t heard a word about your visit.”

“I just arrived, actually.” He forced out each word carefully. Painfully.

A buzzing sound zipped through the air between them, and suddenly all of Eli’s wavering uncertainty vanished. It sounded like the crack of a weapon. Eli turned his head to the woods behind him. Was that gunfire?

He dived forward, covering Hannah with his body and forcing her to the ground. Eleven years working the city streets had taught him to react first and think later.

A second buzzing flew over them. A nanosecond later, the front window of the house shattered.

Oh, yeah. That was gunfire.

KIT WILKINSON

is a former Ph.D. student who once wrote discussions on the medieval feminine voice. She now prefers weaving stories of romance and redemption. Her first inspirational manuscript won a prestigious RWA Golden Heart and her second has been nominated for an RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Award. You can visit Kit at www.kitwilkinson.com or write to her at write@kitwilkinson.com.

Plain Secrets

Kit Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God,

being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience.... For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us

into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom

we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

—Colossians 1:10–14

To my sister, Elizabeth Ann,

whose faith never falters. Thanks for all the support, love and direction over the years.

And

To my editor, Elizabeth,

for her patience and guidance. Danke. Merci. Gracias. Arigato… I really cannot thank you enough :-)

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

Where is that girl? Hannah Nolt could hardly believe her seventeen-year-old stepdaughter had spent the entire night away from home. But here it was morning as sure as the rooster crowed in the new day, and not a single sign that Jessica had come home.

Hannah stepped from the warmth of the cottage, bracing for the chill of morning air. She tried to ward off all negative conclusions about the girl she’d raised as her own. It wasn’t like her to stay out all night even on Rumspringa—that time when Amish youth have their “run around.” And shirking morning duties was never a part of that.

Hannah should have been angry with Jessica, but instead it was only worry that filled her bones as she shivered in the darkness on her way to morning milking.

Jessica had been acting strangely for weeks now—demanding privacy, running off for hours with no explanation, even leaving the farm on weeknights. Things she had never done before. Hannah did not question the change in her behavior. She and Jessica had been closer than ever since Hannah’s husband’s death, just two years ago, and she had faith in Jessica’s good sense and kind spirit. Surely these estranged few weeks were just a simple bump in the road—a growing pain, nothing to be alarmed over. Now Hannah wondered if perhaps she had been wrong to put so much trust in the girl.

Hannah rushed on to the barn. Maybe Jessica had gone straight there from wherever she’d been all night.

Maybe.

But as she scurried up the steep hill, her hope that Jessica was inside milking the Jersey heifers diminished. Fear as thick as the morning fog clouded her thoughts. Something was wrong. Something terribly, horribly wrong. She could feel it in her bones. None of this made sense. Jessica was not the kind of girl to stay out late, much less all night. She just wouldn’t do such a thing. Not by choice. No. Something had happened. Something Farrichterlick—frightful. She closed her eyes and lifted her head to the skies. Please let her be safe, Lord. Let her be safe.

Hannah turned back to the path. A bright flash grazed the hillside, then disappeared. She paused. What is that? A coming storm? She heard no thunder. Saw no clouds.

Her dread doubled as she climbed the last slope to the barn. She pushed open the back door and stepped inside. Another flash of light blinded her eyes. It speared through the inside of the stable. That was no storm. Those were car lights.

The vroom, vroom of a powerful engine broke through the silent morning air. Hannah’s heart raced. Her mouth went dry. Who could be at the barn at this hour of the day? She shuddered. Whatever the reason, it could not be good.

She lifted her lantern. Cold air whooshed around her. Had someone just passed her? Brushed against her?

“Hallo? Jessica? Is that you?” The dead space swallowed her voice. Not even the animals responded. Another flush of air brushed around her. The door behind her slammed shut. She turned, only to have the lantern knocked from her hands. Its flame was extinguished as it hit the dirt floor. As she scrambled after it, something bumped against her once more, this time knocking her to all fours.

Please, God. Be my light. Help me to safety.

Scrambling to her feet again, Hannah lunged toward the closed door, but the large wooden slider wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. The only other door out was at the other side, where she’d seen the car lights. Where she still heard its engine. She took one step forward and stopped. She had not the courage. Sliding into an empty stall, she crouched low, pressing her back against the wall. Footsteps padded down the aisle behind her. Hard, heavy steps—those of a man, a large man. The man who had locked her in and knocked her to the floor.

Beams of light once again filled the eaves of the barn. Hannah sucked in her breath and pressed deeply into the wooden boards behind her, wishing somehow she could disappear into the wall.

Please be leaving. Whoever, whatever you are…please be leaving.

A car door slammed. Gravel crunched. The hum of the car motor grew dim. Her prayer had been answered. She slinked upward and peered over the edge of the stall. Through the open front doors, Hannah spotted a long, shiny black sedan heading away.

Hoping but not truly believing she was alone, she crouched again, feeling over the earthen floor for her dropped lantern. She refilled her lungs, taking in the soothing, familiar smells of animal and hay. She tried to calm her panicked mind. She listened to the cows’ lows and sheep’s vibrating baas.

With trembling hands, she found her lantern and relit the flame. A warm orange glow filled the space around her, and her eyes adjusted to the soft light.

Slowly, she stood and stumbled her way to the front of the stable. Her mind reeled. What had just happened? Who had pushed her to the ground and locked her inside, and why? What mischief had brought an Englischer’s car to their barn? Hannah’s legs trembled under her as she moved across the dirt floor. She jumped when one of the cows swung her head into the aisle, then again when the gray barn cat sauntered over her path.

“The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not fear.” Hannah whispered the Psalm to herself and the animals. I should not be so frightened. She wondered if the disturbance had something to do with Jessica’s absence. In fact, for a moment the car had given her hopes that Jessica had come home. But that idea had died when she was locked in and knocked to the floor.

The cat cried. Hannah stooped to scratch its head. A lamb skirted beside her, down the aisle and out the front.

“What are you doing loose, little girl?” Hannah placed her lantern on the ledge of the sheep pen. Someone had left the gate wide. She peered in only to see that the space was mostly empty. Twenty-plus sheep were out scampering the hillside no doubt. Once it was light, she’d fetch one of the dogs to help round them up.

Hannah turned back to the aisle but stopped as something in the far corner caught her eye. One sheep still sleeping. How odd that he hadn’t stirred when the others roused. Perhaps he was hurt. She reached back for her lantern and moved nearer with care not to startle the creature. But as she closed in on the figure, she realized it was no animal. It was a human. A girl. An Amish girl. Her Amish girl.

Hannah knelt beside her stepdaughter, who in all this time had not moved, nor made a sound.

“Jessica? Jessica?”

Putting the lantern aside once again, she touched the girl’s shoulders and rolled her slightly, drawing her face toward herself.

Jessica’s body was cold. And there was blood. On her face. On her apron. On her neck and hands.

Jessica! Jessica! Oh, Father in Heaven, what has happened?

Hannah whispered prayers as she felt the lifelessness of the body beside her. Shock flowed over her and flashes of Peter erupted into her thoughts. Images of the night he’d been killed. The ice. The untrained horse. The car coming toward him, traveling too fast. Her dear husband, Jessica’s father, thrown from the buggy and trampled. There had been much blood that night, as well.

Hannah reached for the girl’s arm to feel for a pulse. There was none. No life. No spirit. Jessica was no longer in this body. No longer with her.

She touched the girl’s cheeks and turned her face toward the light. There on her soft neck hung open flesh. The throat had been cut—deliberately. The marks were deep. A wound as deadly as the one her father had taken just two years ago.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Hannah whispered the familiar words from Job then fell over the girl’s body and wept.

* * *

“Yo! Miller.”

Elijah Miller, Philadelphia Internal Affairs detective, swung his head in the direction of Captain O’Dell’s deep voice.

“Need to speak with you. Pronto.” The captain gestured toward his office.

Elijah pushed away from his desk. His partner, Mitchell Tucci, stood, too, and started to follow.

“Not you, Tucci. Just Miller.”

Eli jerked his head around to glance back at his partner, who shrugged. It was rarely a good thing when the captain called you to his office. Never a good thing if he called you in by yourself. Elijah crisscrossed his way through the maze of desks and entered O’Dell’s corner space.

“Shut the door. Take a seat,” his captain said.

Eli did as he was told. O’Dell flung a pile of five-by-seven evidence photos across the desk. “The Lancaster police sent these over. Their chief wants your help with a homicide.”

“Why would they want me on a homicide? I’m Internal Affairs.”

When the captain didn’t answer, he looked down at the first picture. A dead teenaged girl. She wore a frock and an apron and a prayer Kapp. A wave of nausea coursed through his veins. This was no normal homicide. This was an Amish homicide.

“Where in Lancaster is she from?” he asked.

“Willow Trace.”

His hometown. Elijah’s teeth clenched. His mind raced with the images of old faces, friends and family. He shuffled to the next picture. A stable. And the next. Her slit throat. The next. Bruises and cuts.

When he’d gone through the entire stack, he placed the pictures back on the edge of the desk and tried to keep down his breakfast of toast and black coffee. Silence filled the room. Eli stared at the floor, trying to squeeze the horrid images from his mind. But he couldn’t stop his racing thoughts. Who was this girl? A neighbor? A friend’s daughter? He pitied the family. Mourned for them. Then wondered at the idea that they encouraged an investigation. Could that be possible? Had things changed that much since he’d left home? The Amish didn’t usually encourage any sort of police aid—or interference, as they thought of it. They liked to take care of their own problems. Eli didn’t imagine this community trait had altered since he’d lived there.

“You okay?” the captain asked.

Eli shook his head. “I don’t want to work an Amish homicide…. She could be a relative.”

“She’s not. I checked. Her name is Jessica Nolt.” O’Dell grabbed a page from the tiny file folder and began to read. “Daughter of Peter Nolt. Also deceased. Lived with stepmother Han—”

“Hannah Kurtz Nolt.” Eli’s voice was cold as he pronounced that name for the first time in a decade.

“Oh, you know these people?”

“Yes. My family shares a property line with them. I knew Peter well. He was a bit older than me. I was friends with his younger brother. And Hannah…” His throat closed tighter. “Hannah was my girlfriend.” Once upon a time…in a faraway land.

“Girlfriend?” The captain looked skeptical.

Eli swallowed hard. “Yep. I dated Hannah while she worked as a nanny to Peter’s daughter. Peter’s first wife died soon after giving birth to Jessica—a bad case of hepatitis. Peter was devastated. Hannah’s parents sent her to help the Nolt family.”

“Then daddy fell for the nanny?”

Eli shrugged; he did not like having that heartache rubbed in his face even after eleven years. “Something like that. Hannah started working for the family when she was twelve. The Nolts became her family—marriage just made it official. And Jessica was a very sweet girl. I remember her well.” He shook away the memories—both good and bad. “So, how old was she? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen.”

Seventeen. He frowned, thinking how an unexplained death like this would affect all of the community. And especially Hannah. “I see a deep laceration on her throat in this picture, but there’s no blood. Not even on her clothes. This isn’t the crime scene? Or has it been cleaned up?”

“I thought you didn’t want to work the case.”

“I don’t. But I can’t help being a little curious.”

“The notes here explain that the uncle, Thomas Nolt, called Chief McClendon, but by the time he arrived, the family had already changed the girl’s clothes and burned them. They claim there was no blood around her, only on her clothes. If they are telling the truth I think we can assume she wasn’t killed in the stable.”

“They are telling the truth…. What’s the story on the girl?”

“A perfectly good girl, as far as the family tells it. No evidence of drugs or alcohol.”

“But the family wouldn’t necessarily know what she’s involved in. She was probably on Rumspringa. Kids don’t have to tell their parents anything much during that time.” Eli sighed and glanced again at the horrid photos. “There’s bruising on her arms and neck in those pictures. A struggle before death? Abuse? I can’t imagine it of the Nolt family, but there are cases of abuse in the Amish community.”

“I don’t know. This is all we have.” The captain held up the thin file. “The only other information in here is that her stepmother, Hannah, is the one who found her in the milking stable. Maybe you could start by questioning her.”

Question Hannah? The woman who dumped me. No way. No Hannah. No Willow Trace. No investigation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to be official about it. Just go and pay respects or whatever.”

“Why me? If you just want someone to figure out what’s going on, why not one of the local guys?”

“Chief McClendon says his own men aren’t always Amish-friendly. He’d heard of you, the Amish cop in the city, and thought the people would respond better with one of their own asking the questions.”

Eli shook his head—that made no sense. Very few people knew he was raised Amish. “They’d be even less likely to answer me—because they’d think I should know better than to ask. The Amish don’t seek revenge or restitution or even answers for unexplained events. They accept it as God’s will and move on. So they would have no reason to seek answers and therefore would have no interest in answering them. I can’t imagine the family even wants an investigation.”

“Well, they don’t. That’s why there was no autopsy. All we have are these pictures. And Chief McClendon took them himself. He thinks there’s something major going on here and that you’re our best shot at finding out what it is.”

Eli shook his head. “I haven’t seen these people in eleven years. I’m not one of them anymore. They won’t talk to me about any of this. They probably don’t even talk to each other about it.”

The captain frowned. “McClendon thinks you’ll have a chance.”

Eli groaned. He did not want to go back to Willow Trace. Not now. Not ever. “I’m sorry, Captain. But I can’t do this.”

“You have to.”

“But Tucci and I are right in the middle of a case against that officer in District Seven.”

“I’ll put someone else on it.”

Eli shook his head. “You don’t get it. I really cannot go back there.”

“You have to.” O’Dell folded up the record file. “I’ll be honest with you, Miller, I don’t quite get it, but this is way over my head.”

Eli narrowed his eyes on the captain. “What? How can it be over your head from the Lancaster County police?”

His boss crossed his arms over his chest. “The request came from Chief McClendon via the governor.”

“The governor?” Elijah stood and began to pace in front of his boss’s desk. “How does the governor even know I exist?”

“No idea, Miller. But when the governor asks for you, you go.”

* * *

An hour later, Eli was navigating the rolling hills of eastern Pennsylvania reluctantly on his way to Willow Trace. With every passing mile, the tension in him racked tighter and tighter. After eleven years, how would he be received? Would he be received? The only person who’d stayed in touch with him was his sister, Abigail. But even she did so in secret—their father, the local bishop, had told Elijah never to return if he chose to take up weapons as a part of his life and work.

Eli knew it was difficult for his family to understand the choice he’d made, not just to leave the community but to become a police officer. Yet the reasons for it went far back into his childhood. He’d only been about five years old when, during a trip to the city with his father, a crazy man on the train had kidnapped him and his sister, Abigail. If it had not been for the help of the Philadelphia police, Elijah and his sister would never have been reunited with their family. That incident had always made him admire and respect the police. When Hannah had chosen to marry Peter instead of him, Eli had felt certain that leaving the Amish community behind and becoming a policeman was what God had called him to do. Ironic that the very reason he’d never returned to Willow Trace since then was exactly the thing forcing him home today.

About as ironic as heading out to see Hannah—the woman he’d tried so hard to forget. They’d been so in love. Or at least he’d thought so. Then she’d married Peter. He’d felt like such a fool.

His thoughts rambled as he maneuvered his convertible through the hills and around the horse and buggies. He kept his head down and lifted a quick word. Guard me from their judgment, Lord. If there is a job for me here, then make me strong so I can do it. If not, let me return to what—

Eli looked up just in time to slam on the brakes as another horse and carriage crossed right into his lane while attempting to avoid a sleek black sedan speeding around the buggy on the right shoulder.

Crazy driver. Couldn’t slow down one second for a buggy. Good grief. Someone could have been seriously injured. He shook his head, remembering all too well the days of being in the buggy himself and having those sorts of incidents. They happened more frequently than they should. He patted the dash of his Mustang. He felt much safer in his convertible.

Checking his rearview mirror, he searched for the car, but the black sedan had already fled the area. Thankfully, the horse and buggy were recovered and back on their side of the road. Eli drove on.

Minutes later, he turned onto the dirt path leading to the Nolts’ farmhouse. A chill of unease rippled down his spine with the strangest feeling that he was being watched. He parked in the gravel turnaround in front of the quaint two-story stone cottage and stepped out of his car. The old house hadn’t changed. The sight of it flooded his head with hundreds of memories—gatherings, Sunday church, buggy rides.

A woman stepping onto the long white porch restored his mind to the present. She wore a blue frock with a black apron. Her raven hair had been tucked tightly away under a white prayer Kapp. She dried her hands on the skirt of her apron, then pressed away the creases, all the while studying him from the safety of the porch. At length, a soft, pleasant smile fell over her lips.

Hannah.

Eli froze to his spot on the front walkway. She was stunning as ever—her sweet face, her deep emerald eyes. As soft and beautiful as the last time he’d seen her so many years ago. She smiled wide, although from the redness around her eyes he guessed she’d been crying recently, no doubt over the loss of her daughter. Still, as she moved toward him, she was easy and natural. Seeing her felt like a cool breeze against his skin on the hottest of summer days. A lump the size of a stone grew into his throat, and his heart pumped four times its normal speed.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“Can it be? Elijah Miller?” Her alto voice sounded smooth and rich. “After all these years?”

“It is.” He struggled to speak. Seeing her again seemed to have sucked the air from his lungs and brought back so many memories his head was full. “How are you, Hannah?”

She tilted her head to the side, grinning wider. “How long have you been home? I have not heard a word about your visit. How is that so?”

“I just arrived, actually.” He forced out each word carefully. Painfully. He shifted his weight and pressed his lips together. Her friendliness surprised him a little but not as much as his own reaction. Where was all the pain and anger he should be feeling?

“And you have not been first to see your Mamm? How is that?”

A buzzing sound zipped through the air between them. Eli turned his head to the woods. Was that gunfire?

Suddenly all of his wavering uncertainty vanished. Years of training and experience had hardwired his response to that sound—even when it came at the most unlikely of moments. Without a second thought, he dove forward, covering Hannah with his body and forcing her to the ground. Eleven years working the city streets had taught him to react first and think later. A skill that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

A second buzzing flew over them. A nanosecond later, the front window of the house shattered.

Oh yeah. That was gunfire.

TWO

“What’s going on?” Hannah tried to sit up and take stock of the situation. Elijah pushed her back to the ground.

“Stay down. Someone’s shooting at us.” He rolled onto his back and pulled his Glock from its shoulder holster, aiming it toward the woods.

Hannah stared wide-eyed at his gun. She scooted back a few feet, then started to stand.

“What are you doing?” He jumped up after her, shielding her body again but continuing to face the woods with his firearm cocked and ready. “You’re making yourself a target. Those are real bullets, Hannah.”

“Jah, all the more reason to move inside, no?” She hurried toward the porch.

Okay. Maybe she had a point.

Eli covered her as they made their way to the front door. He kept his eyes on the edge of the nearby forest. “Is anyone else home?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll go first.” He slipped in front of her and into the house, gun raised. Glass from the broken window had sprayed out across the hardwood floor. Otherwise, the large open space looked untouched. He pulled her in behind him and placed her in a corner away from the open door and window.

“Stay here while I check upstairs and in the Dawdi Haus.”

Hannah nodded. Eli ran up the stairs. He checked the bedrooms and single bath of the main cottage. He opened the connecting door leading to the Dawdi or grandparent addition and hurried through the small, attached living space. The entire place was empty.

“Clear.” He descended to the living room. Hannah was still crouched in the corner. He put away his gun and knelt in front of her. “I’m going to search the woods. Don’t move until I get back.”

“You’re going back out there?” Her eyes widened.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to catch one of her nervous glances, but her eyes would not rest. She shook all over. And he didn’t blame her. Someone had just blown out her front window. He hated to leave her, but he had to check the woods. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll keep an eye on the house the whole time.”

She nodded, her body still trembling and her eyes avoiding his. But he could see the tears in them. As her head sank lower, Elijah’s heart dropped. He hated the fear she was feeling on top of the pain she’d already been through. This wasn’t the time for condolences, but the words burst out anyway.

“I’m sorry about your daughter. I’m sorry about Jessica.”

He quietly slid through the front door and took off across the front lawn, finding cover behind an unfinished wooden shed, his car, then an old stone well. His mind spun hard and fast with muddled questions and strange emotions…and Hannah. And he didn’t like any of it one bit.

At the forest edge, Eli did his best to estimate the position of the shooter and he scanned for any evidence—a footprint, a thread of material, bullet casings. Anything besides a plethora of flora and fauna. But there was nothing, not even a squirrel skittering about. So when a twig snapped behind him, he immediately turned and raised his gun.

He lowered it just as quickly. A small child stood there—an Amish child, dressed in a blue shirt, black trousers with suspenders and a straw hat.

“Sorry.” Eli clicked on the safety of his gun and slid the piece back into its holster. “Don’t be afraid. I thought you were someone else.”

The boy frowned and pointed through the woods. “He went that way.”

“Who went that way?”

“You look for man with, uh, der Pistole?” The boy looked at the Glock.

“You saw the man with the gun?”

The boy nodded and pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a large black hat, the kind the Amish men wore.

“The man was Amish?” Eli’s voice cracked with surprise.

The boy shook his head. “Nein. English he was.”

“But he wore this hat?”

“Jah. He wear hat but also he have a…Oberlippenbart.” The boy pointed to his upper lip.

“A mustache?” Eli was thankful the kid was observant. No Amish man grew a mustache—only the beard. So, the kid was right. The shooter could not have been Amish. Not that it was likely a shooter was Amish anyway, as the People did not support the use of weapons—and hence the main reason his own father could not accept his choice of professions. “Did you see where he went?”

“In black car. Big black car.” The boy’s eyes were wide with admiration.

A black car? Like the one that nearly caused the wreck earlier? “And the car?”

“It goes.”

Of course, the car was long gone, but at least he’d been searching in the right place. Whoever he was, he had taken his shell casings with him, meaning he was probably not an amateur. Although if he was a pro, and had been aiming at Eli or Hannah, then why had he missed? They’d been standing out in the open, without a thought of danger, until the first shot had been fired. Could his poor aim have been deliberate? Like warning shots? Eli looked back at the boy. “Okay, son. Let’s get you home. Where do live?”

“Miller’s Grove.”

Elijah nodded. Miller’s Grove was the home of his uncle. “What’s your name, son?”

“Nicholas.” He grinned. “Nicholas Miller.”

“Well, you get on home, Nicholas Miller.” Eli smiled at the child. “Can I have that hat?”

The boy lifted the hat to him. “Are you a policeman?”

“I am,” Eli said, then watched the child, his very own cousin, scramble down the same path he’d taken so many times, so many years ago. At the other edge of the woods, an older girl with golden braids walked the path in her bare feet. No doubt it was Nicholas’s sister come to fetch her brother home.

Elijah sighed and headed back to Nolt Cottage. Great. That cute cousin would head home now and tell all his siblings about the cop in the woods…and then everyone would know he was back in Willow Trace.

But would he be staying long enough to make a difference to his family? He wasn’t sure yet. From those surprising first few minutes, it looked as though he was needed in Willow Trace—at least judging by the flying bullets. But even that didn’t make him want to stay. Seeing Hannah had been strange enough. He couldn’t imagine a confrontation with his own father. No. The sooner he was out of there, the better.

* * *

Hannah wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees to her chest, as if she could squeeze away her own fears. But when her eyes fixed on the shards of broken glass spread across the floor, she continued to tremble.

Today had been the first time she’d dared be alone since that morning in the barn, since Jessica’s “accident”—as Thomas, her brother-in-law, referred to the girl’s death. But Hannah didn’t believe Jessica’s death was an accident. Dead bodies don’t get placed in barns by accident. People probably don’t shoot at you and your house accidentally, either. Losing Jessica had been devastating enough on its own—she had never once imagined that whatever had gotten Jessica killed could put herself or any others in danger, too.

Perhaps Thomas and she should not have kept silent about the events surrounding Jessica’s death. About the blood and how she’d been away all night. About her many secrets. About the black car at the barn and the intruder who pushed Hannah down and locked her inside. If only she could relive that last week. As her mother, she could have prevented this. She should have prevented this.

In her mind she replayed the moments when she could have stopped Jessica and asked her what she was about. Each time she’d failed. What she would give to have just one more day with her precious daughter. Hannah dropped her head in a fit of sobs. What she would give not to have found her in the stable that morning. It seemed the more she tried to push away the memory of that morning, the more she relived it in her mind… .

“Oh, Jessica, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. If only I had been a better mother to you.” Hannah had turned the girl’s hands over in her own as she knelt beside her in the stall. The girl was so disheveled, bloodied, dirty. “This is all my fault. I should have known what you were about. Rumspringa or not, I should have taken better care of you. I can never forgive myself.”

Hannah had brushed the dirt and loose hairs from the girl’s face.

“What’s the trouble?” A deep voice had sounded at the front of the barn.

It was Thomas. He must have wondered why she wasn’t in the house making breakfast. She moved to the side so that he could see his niece in the sheep’s bed of straw.

He froze, the color draining from his face. He rushed forward. “Is that—is that Jessica?”

Hannah met his dark eyes. “I—I found her here. She’s dead, Thomas. Jessica is dead. I have failed her and Peter and God…and you.”

“This is not your doing,” he said. “You must not blame yourself. You were a gut mother to her, Hannah. As gut as her own mother could have been. As good as if you had given birth to her yourself.”

His words were meant to comfort, but Hannah fell limp at the reminder of her infertility and the end of what was to be her only chance at motherhood. She just sat crying silently as Thomas placed Jessica’s hands together on her belly and patted them.

“Our God is sovereign, Hannah. He alone is ruler and judge. We must accept what has happened. Be strong.” He touched his hand to hers. “I will call the elders.”

“No. Please. I don’t want anyone to see her this way.”

He had seen she could not be calmed. “Stay with Jessica until I return. I will bring her clothes. I don’t want Nana to see her this way, either. I will also have to call the police, Chief McClendon. He is sensitive to our ways.”

“Yes. Call the police. They will find who did this to my precious Jessica. I will tell them about the car I saw, and—”

Thomas put a finger to her mouth to stop her speech. “You will tell them nothing, Hannah. You know it is not our way to search for answers. It is in God’s hands. Promise me you will say nothing.”

She promised. He was right, of course—investigating was not what the Amish did. But she couldn’t help wishing, as impossible as it seemed, that someone would come and help her find the truth.

Footsteps sounded on the front porch and she stiffened, turning her face toward the door. Elijah’s solid frame blocked the sun from the room, and his dark shadow covered her. Both startled and relieved, Hannah placed a hand over her mouth and released a tight breath.

“I’m sorry. That took longer than I expected. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” He entered the house slowly.

“I am okay.” She nodded. “Did you see anyone?”

“Yes. But not the shooter. I saw a child. And according to him, the man with the Pistole drove away in a big black car.”

A black car? Like the one at the barn when she’d found Jessica? She swallowed hard. “A child?”

He nodded. “Nicholas Miller. My own cousin, I believe.”

“He is. Son of your cousin John. He comes to see the young horses from time to time. Loves them, he does. He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“No. He’s fine. Went home down the path. I watched him through the forest.” He walked closer. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do you know something about a black car?”

“How would I know about a black car?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but Eli’s penetrating eyes kept her on edge. “I pay no attention to such things.”

Closing in the space remaining between them, he offered a hand to help her up. “You sure you’re okay, Hannah?”

“Ach. It’s not every day people run around Willow Trace with guns and bullets.” She stood without his help, took a step back and tried to face him. But the intensity in his eyes made her more nervous than she already felt.

He walked back to the front door and checked that it was secure. She hoped that he had put away his gun. He must remember that guns were verboten. Although there was something—a dark object—in his hands. As he moved back to the kitchen, she saw that it was a black broad-rimmed hat like the one Amish men wore when they weren’t working in the sun. She wanted to ask him where he’d gotten it, but there was a more pressing question at hand. “Do you intend to stay awhile?”

Eli frowned taking a look down at the hat, which he then tossed onto the tabletop. “No, I don’t—just long enough to figure out what’s going on. According to my little cousin, this hat belongs to our shooter.”

“Sure.” She lifted a brow and glared at him. “An Amish man with a gun. Shooting at my house. Maybe you’ve forgotten but we don’t have or use guns.”

He gave her a dissatisfied look. “Any joker off the street can buy one of these hats in a tourist shop or online.”

Right. Hannah dropped her head.

“So, let’s get started, shall we? Who is shooting at you and why?”

Eli didn’t sound angry, but in his eyes, she could see how uncomfortable he was to be there, talking to her again. She told herself that that was why he was being so abrupt, so different from the boy she remembered. She also told herself—and tried to believe—that his detached tone didn’t hurt.

“I have no idea.” And that was the truth. “In fact, maybe that someone was shooting at you? Your life involves guns much more often than mine, does it not? Or maybe it was a hunter with a bad aim?”

He tilted his head to the other side. “Except that it’s not hunting season. You said yourself no one around here owns a gun. And for the other possibility, well…if someone wanted to shoot at me they would have better opportunities than driving out to Lancaster County and aiming through the woods.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Then it must be a mistake. Who would shoot at me?”

“A mistake?” His face was grim as he pulled his pistol from under his jacket, did something with it that made some clicking sounds, then returned it to his side. He looked up at her again and clenched his jaw. “Two shots within inches of each other, that’s no mistake.”

Hannah turned away and continued to stall the conversation. “Your weapon should be outside.”

“Someone just shot at you. The gun stays here with me where I can use it.”

“Then maybe you should go.” She lifted her head high as if to challenge him.

“Gladly, just as soon as you tell me what’s going on around here.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“I’m talking about your stepdaughter’s death and someone shooting at you.” He folded his hands over his chest. “I’m here to investigate what happened to Jessica.”

His words sent a quiver over her lips, but she fought through it. She would not cry in front of Elijah Miller. “Again, you—you must be mistaken. There was not to be an investigation. There was…nothing to investigate.”

Elijah tossed a photo on the table next to the black hat. “Her neck was cut. She’s bruised all over. Four days later someone is shooting at you and you say there is nothing to investigate?”

“How did you get that?” She glanced at the photo, immediately recognizing the wound to her dear girl’s neck. Grabbing at her stomach, she turned away. She must be strong. There was no need to involve Elijah in this.

“Chief McClendon of the Lancaster police.” Eli removed the photo from the table and put it away in his jacket pocket. “He asked me to come here and see what I could find out.”

“And what do you find so far?”

“I think there is something to investigate. I think you should talk to me. This is no game, Hannah. You need to protect yourself. Someone is threatening you and your family. You cannot sit and be silent.”

“I know you want to help. And it’s very kind of you.” She forced a smile. “But it’s not our way. We will accept what has happened.”

“It’s not very kind of me. I don’t want to be here one bit. But it’s my job and I take that pretty seriously. Now please stop avoiding my questions and tell me how and when all this started.”

She glanced at him and saw the frustration but also sorrow in his eyes. Like so many years ago when she told him she’d decided to marry Peter. Then, too, she had not told him the entire truth. Here she was again, keeping secrets. But she had promised and she must keep her word.

She fetched a broom and dustpan from the cupboard, and with short, quick strokes, she began to sweep the broken glass that covered the floor. “Even if there was more to the story, it does not change the fact that Jessica is gone. So what is there to investigate?”

“Perhaps something about this black car that you know about but don’t know about?”

She continued to sweep, not looking his way. He watched her for a few moments, then moved next to her and gently took the broom and dustpan from her hand.

She still refused to look up as she said, “We are all fine. Really.”

“Really? Someone just shot at your house. That doesn’t seem so ‘fine’ to me. I haven’t forgotten the way things work around here. I understand that you want to let go and accept what has happened. I’m not trying to stop that—in fact, you may be able to let go more easily if you know what happened. Don’t you even care about who killed your stepdaughter?”

“Of course I care. I miss her every minute. She was everything to me.” Hannah began to tremble again, but she would not give in to her emotions. She would not show such weakness of faith. “But knowledge does not bring peace and understanding. That comes only from God.”

The back of his hand caressed her cheek. The warmth was comforting, and for a strange, fleeting second, she longed to fall into his arms and weep. Instead she turned away.

He stepped back. “I wish this wasn’t why I was here. I’m so sorry. I know you raised Jessica as your own child. I can’t imagine what you are feeling and after what happened to Peter…”

She looked up and he must have been able to read the surprise in her face.

“Abigail told me. As a midwife, she has a cell phone in order for her patients to contact her when they go into labor. We talk occasionally. She told me about Peter.” He pressed his lips together. “He was a good man, Hannah. If he hadn’t been, I… Well, that was a long time ago. I didn’t come here to rake up the past. You must want to know what happened Jessica. So please, come sit with me. Talk to me. Tell me about her. She must have been a wonderful good girl with you as her Mamm.”

With all of the charisma and ease he’d possessed as a young man, Eli put the broom and dustpan aside and led her back to the kitchen table. But she did not take a seat.

“Perhaps we should go to the porch?” she suggested.

“I don’t think the porch is a good place for you today.” He pulled out a chair for her. After she sat, he removed his coat and hung it over the back of one of the other kitchen chairs and sat opposite her. His gun was still in the holster at his side.

“Have you forgotten everything, Elijah Miller? We don’t have guns in our houses.”

“Actually, it’s you who has forgotten that someone shot at you only fifteen minutes ago.” He smiled and patted the gun under his arm. “It’s staying right where it is.”

“Nana Ruth will be horror-struck.”

“Nana Ruth will never know.” Eli’s ridiculous expression nearly caused her to giggle. She lifted a hand to her mouth to cover her slight smile.

“Please, don’t cover up such a beautiful face,” he said. “It is the one perk of the assignment.”

Perk? She could feel the warmth grow in her cheeks. “You speak with strange words, Elijah Miller.”

“I’ve been gone a long time.”

His lips curved with the hint of a smile. How handsome his face was to behold. She remembered how the sight of him had always stolen a little of her breath. She feared she would reveal too much if she said a single word. It was best to do as she had promised—to keep silent. This would all pass, even if there was a part of her that wanted to know the truth.

“You won’t talk to me, then?” He rose from the table.

“I cannot.”

“No. You choose not to talk. It isn’t the same, Hannah.” He lifted a small black mobile phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call the Lancaster police and report the shooting. They’ll have to come out and file a report.”

“No. Please. You’re the police. Isn’t that enough?”

“You can’t have it both ways. Either you talk to me and tell me the truth or I call Chief McClendon.” He held his little phone in the air, waiting for her decision.

Hannah dropped her head between her hands. She did not want to see Chief McClendon again. But to speak the truth to Elijah…that might be worse.

THREE

Eli walked onto the porch, frustrated and defeated—not so different than he had all those years ago when Hannah had refused him without so much as an explanation. Being back in Willow Trace was harder than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t counted on all those old emotions resurfacing the second he laid eyes on her. Yet he knew he needed to be there no matter what he’d said to Hannah or how badly he’d like to go back to the city.

Hannah needed protection. Maybe the Amish had survived centuries with very little police or other government interference, but the governor had called him there. Clearly this situation was even more dangerous than Eli had suspected. Anyway, Elijah didn’t believe in coincidence. He’d prayed for confirmation that his presence was needed there, and God had answered that in a big way. Jessica’s death was no accident—even if Hannah wouldn’t talk, he could tell that she didn’t believe that. Nor was the shooting at her house a mere coincidence.

The sad truth, though, was that if he couldn’t convince Hannah to talk to him, then there was no chance anyone else would. She had the most to gain by learning the truth, and there she was ordering him away—Hannah whom at one time he’d been so close to and shared all his dreams with. She saw him as an outsider now. It shouldn’t upset him. He shouldn’t take it so personally. He was just there to do a job. Right?

He watched through the window as back inside the house, Hannah went back to her broom and dustpan, cleaning the broken window up from the floors. What was she hiding? He had a wild impulse to hold her gently until she cried and told him all her secrets, to make her see that he was still the same person he’d always been.

Focus on the case, Miller. Do your job and get out of Willow Trace. Hannah had never been for him. How could he even think such a thing after the way she’d broken his heart and never looked back? His grip on the phone tightened. He turned his back to Hannah and dialed the private number given to him by Captain O’Dell.

“McClendon.”

“Hello, sir. This is Detective Miller in Willow Trace, as per your request. Within five minutes of my arrival, there was a shooting incident—someone firing from the woods toward the Nolts’ home. No one is injured, but I thought—”

“I’ll be right out.” The line disconnected.

Not much of a conversation. Eli put the phone away in his pocket. Then again the whole situation was strange—so much secrecy? No media coverage? The governor involved? He hoped to have a nice chat with McClendon when he got there.

Maybe there was a political connection. But to the Amish? That was a stretch. Who could find a group of people more unconnected to the political world? They didn’t even vote. A young widow and her teenaged daughter were not likely to be involved in anything that would snag the governor’s attention.

Soft footfalls behind him made him turn. Hannah had joined him on the porch with a tall glass of lemonade. “Drink.”

“Denki.” He took the glass. They both smiled at his use of Pennsylvania Dutch language. He laughed. “I haven’t said that in years and already twice today.”

Her cheeks became a lovely color of pink. Her green eyes shone brighter. For a second, Eli felt like a sixteen-year-old boy again—that very same boy who would have leapt ten feet into the air after feeling the tingle of Hannah’s fingers brush against his own as she passed him a glass of lemonade.

Tender emotions rushed through him. How he’d loved her all those years ago. Every woman since, he’d compared to her beauty and her kindness and her soul. None had been able to match up.

Get a grip, Miller.

He stepped back, trying to smile nonchalantly. Good grief. He was there to investigate, not to rekindle an old flame, especially an old flame with the woman who had dumped him. Once in a lifetime was enough for that.

Eli drank down the crisp, sweet mixture and returned the empty glass to her. Keep your mind on the investigation. “McClendon is on his way.”

She frowned, clearly displeased with him, and his heart sank all over again. “You have changed, Elijah Miller. I thought you would understand and remember our ways. I thought you would respect them.”

“I do respect our ways.” He paused, a bit surprised at his choice of words. “But when the outside world comes to you, you have to respect it, too. You don’t have to be in it, but you have to let someone help you protect yourself from this danger. Hannah, remember when I was six and my Dat took me into the city for the first time? I was abducted the second I stepped off the train.”

“Jah. I remember that story. God brought you home safe to us again.”

“Yes, but with the help of a police officer. Let’s face it. If that cop hadn’t fired his gun and shot the man holding me, then I would have been the one who’d died that day. Not the criminal. Someone wants to hurt you, Hannah, you and your family. They’ve already succeeded once. Please, let me help keep you safe,” he pleaded. “Tell me what you know instead of cleverly avoiding every one of my questions.”

She shot him a furtive glance as if she considered his words. Then she moved away from him. “It is not our way. As you must already know, it was decided that Jessica had a terrible accident.”

“A terrible accident?” He shook his head in disbelief. “If one of those bullets had hit us earlier today, would that have been an accident, too?”

Hannah kept her eyes low, avoiding his face. “I don’t know why anyone would be shooting at the house. But, in any case, the Nolts do not want the police involved. Thomas said so himself. You know how it is.”

“I remember, Hannah.” He remembered more than he liked. “And sometimes that is best—to move on. But if you are now in danger, then it’s time to be proactive. You don’t want to give the shooter a second chance.”

She backed away.

“Don’t you even want to know what happened to your daughter?” He reached for the crook of her arm. “Forget the Ordnung talk for one second and be straight with me.”

She yanked her arm away.

Good. He was getting to her, even if he was pushing her in an uncomfortable way. She had to see that she needed to both accept God’s will here and protect herself. And for that, he would push as hard as needed.

“You do, don’t you?” he continued. “You do want to know what happened. The report said that you found her. Hannah, is that true? You found her in the barn at milking time? I saw the pictures. Tell me what happened that morning.”

Hannah kept her eyes to the floor. Her jaw clenched.

“I can see you want to tell me something. Why don’t you just say it?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Eli. You should go home and leave us be.”

A different question—what if he tried a different question? “Not until you talk to me. Where was Jessica before she died? Had she gone into the city? You know something, Hannah. I can see it in your face.”

“You’re wasting your time, Elijah. Jessica is gone and there’s nothing to be done about it. Go back and tell your people that we do things differently here.”

“I can’t. McClendon is on his way. The governor asked me to be here. Please, Hannah.” He stepped closer and spoke at a whisper. “Tell me what happened.”

She looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t need to know what happened to Jessica. Without her, I don’t even know if I care that I live. I have nothing left.”

He swallowed hard. His heart ached for Hannah. More than ever he wanted to pull her the rest of the way into his arms and hold her tight. He wanted to let her release all of her pain and confusion. He wanted to remove her sweet prayer Kapp, run his hands through her locks of raven curls and remind her of how beautiful and precious she was. He wanted to press his lips to hers and kiss away her sorrow. But he knew she didn’t want him to. Maybe she never did.

* * *

Elijah’s firm grip on her arms gave Hannah a feeling of support she hadn’t experienced in many years. His breath brushed warm and soft against her face. She should not let him hold her so close, but there was no strength in her to push him away. Her brain was befuddled as his questions swirled in her head while his touch both comforted and frightened her. She wanted to tell him everything—about Jessica, about Peter, about how she could never have children. But fear kept her mouth tight.

“Hannah, gehts-du innen—get into the Haus.” Thomas’s deep voice boomed across the porch.

Hannah and Elijah broke from their near embrace. She turned to face her brother-in-law where he stood at the edge of the porch carrying a large satchel of horse feed that made his muscles bulge. He looked as angry as she had ever seen him. “Thomas, brother, you remember your friend, Elijah Miller.”

“I do.” He gave a curt nod.

“He has come to pay his respects,” Hannah explained.

“Actually, I’m here to investigate your niece’s death,” Elijah said. “I was trying to get Hannah to talk about the day you found Jessica. From the pictures of your niece postmortem, it looks very possible that she was murdered. Some of the police feel the matter should be looked into. Perhaps you can fill me in on things? Hannah doesn’t feel she should talk to me.”

“Looked to me like you were investigating something else.” Thomas eyed Hannah. “I am certain Hannah explained our wishes in both matters.”

“Both matters?” Elijah’s confusion was apparent.

Hannah shrank back toward the door of the cottage. She wanted to run into the house, but she knew that that would only make matters worse. How could Thomas bring up such a topic only a few days after Jessica’s death? It was not unusual for a widow to marry the unwed brother of her deceased. But nothing had been decided, and they had not talked about such a union in months.

“Oh…oh…you—you are betrothed? No. Hannah didn’t mention that.” Elijah glanced back and forth between the two of them, then moved toward Thomas. “But no need to upset yourself, old friend. I’m here on business. Just after I arrived, shots were fired at the house. I think for your safety you should tell me what you know that could be relevant.”

Thomas’s look of anger softened quickly into concern as he turned to Hannah. “Is this true? Someone shot at you?”

She glared at Elijah, her mind full of his touch. How unaffected he seemed by the moment and the news that she was betrothed—even if it was false. She looked back to Thomas and tried to ignore the disappointment that weighed on her. “It is true, brother. You can see for yourself the broken window.”

Thomas dropped his large pack and hopped up the steps. “But you are fine, no?”

“Jah, I am fine.” She gathered her wits as best she could. “Mr. Miller has been kind enough to call your friend Chief McClendon. I believe he is expected soon, ain’t so? I will finish cleaning the glass and make coffee.”

Hannah scrambled inside the house, leaving the two men to puff their feathers for each other. She was mad at them both. She had never promised to marry Thomas, although he had asked her once and she had requested time to think on it. And Elijah should not have taken hold of her in such a bold way, grabbing on to all her senses the way he did.

That impulse she felt in that moment when she’d wanted to tell him everything…that was clearly just Elijah’s bad influence at work. Thomas had made the decision that they would not seek answers as to what had happened to Jessica, and it was her duty to follow his wishes. Elijah had no business asking her to open her heart and share her thoughts and fears with him. He had shown their community that he could not be relied upon when he left them all behind, abandoning his family and breaking his father’s heart.

At least now Thomas was home and he could tell Elijah to leave. He did not belong there. He was no longer one of them.

FOUR

Evening came fresh and cool. After a large helping of Hannah’s hearty shepherd’s pie, Eli followed Chief McClendon and Thomas Nolt onto the front porch.

He stopped at the edge of the stoop and looked into the clear night sky. He had forgotten how many stars one could see on a clear night in the country sky. He’d forgotten the rushing sounds of the wind, and of the leaves, and of the livestock milling about. Even the smells, he’d forgotten—that earthy blend of grasses and compost and animal and home cooking and unfinished wood.

It’s true, Lord. Here, it is easier to see You, to hear You, to be with You. He breathed in deeply all the familiar odors and smiled up at the night sky. If only he could record all the sensations for when he returned home to the city.

The other men’s voices pulled him back to the moment. Chief McClendon turned to Thomas. “I thank your family for such kindness to me this evening.”

“Gut to see you, Chief. Not so gut, your reason for coming.” Thomas gave Eli a frosty glare. Then the two men shook hands like old pals, while Eli stood there, feeling about as welcomed as the Plague.

He had not expected a warm welcome from his old school friend and neighbor, but he hadn’t expected one quite this glacial, either. He supposed it was his fault seeing as the man had caught Hannah practically in his arms. Even though Thomas and Hannah were not engaged, as Thomas had insinuated, Thomas’s intentions seemed clear. At the very least it was readily apparent that he felt completely responsible for Hannah and very protective toward her. Hannah’s feelings on the matter were less obvious. She attended to Thomas as head of the household, but she didn’t show him any particular regard—not that Elijah was taking notes or anything. He couldn’t have cared less. He had no interest in Hannah. He’d just been trying to get her to talk to him, and if Thomas hadn’t shown up when he did, she would have. He was sure of it.

Eli glanced through the broken window at her, washing up dishes in the kitchen. She turned as if aware of him, offered a smile, then quickly averted her eyes back to her work.

Right. He felt nothing for her. The spike in his pulse must have been agitated nerves from his unexpected return to Willow Trace. Eli sighed and tried to focus once again on the case. “So, Hannah found the girl as I saw her in the pictures that you, Chief McClendon, took and filed away without further inquiry?”

McClendon shook his head, some regret in his expression. “I’ve been working with the Plain folk long enough to know what is acceptable. I do try not to interfere, but this case is different. I don’t feel comfortable simply walking away. Thomas, consider making allowances this time.”

“We appreciate Chief McClendon’s respect. That is why Mr. Miller need not stay in Willow Trace,” Thomas said.

McClendon frowned at Thomas. “As I said, I don’t usually interfere, but I think this case is different. Call it instinct. I should have some of it after working the job for twenty-five years. Thomas, I hope you’ll accept my advice to have Detective Miller stay on at the farm for a day or two. Losing one of you has been hard enough. And with the incident that occurred today, I cannot turn a blind eye.”

Thomas and Eli looked uncomfortably at each other.

Eli had about as much desire to stay at the Nolts’ as Thomas had for him to be his guest. But from the way McClendon was behaving, it seemed as if the alternative was to have a patrol car on the farm, and neither McClendon nor Thomas would have any part of that. Eli tried to hide his skepticism. The Lancaster County Police Department was a large organization. It was hard to believe there wasn’t one trustworthy individual among its ranks to work with the Amish. As far as Eli was concerned, McClendon, Hannah and Thomas were all hiding something, and he intended to find out what that was. How the governor fit into all of this he couldn’t even imagine.

At dinner, he had not gleaned much new information. But one thing was certain—they all knew Jessica’s death was no accident. There was an undercurrent of fear riding through the house.

Thomas frowned. “I made a mistake to leave Hannah alone at the house today. It will not happen again, I assure you both.”

The chief nodded. “I know you’ll make every effort to take care of your own. And normally, I wouldn’t press my ways on you. But I’m asking you this one time to keep Mr. Miller close. He’s got a phone and a radio and—”

“And a gun,” Thomas finished his sentence.

“And a gun.” The chief nodded and turned toward his car. “I’ll check with you tomorrow, Detective.” He stepped into his squad car and drove away.

Don’t call us, we’ll call you, Eli thought. Thanks, Chief. What was that? No explanation of the pictures. No mention of what had happened to the girl’s clothing. No hint of a theory as to who had been behind the shooting earlier.

As the Lancaster chief drove away, the tension between Thomas and Elijah returned in full. They stood in silence on opposite ends of the porch.

“I didn’t ask for this case,” Eli said at length. “But now that it has been assigned to me, I intend to see it through.”

“Meaning what exactly?” Thomas glared back at him.

“Meaning I’ll be around for a few days asking questions about Jessica, about her friends and about her death.”

“Questions to Hannah? Questions about Hannah?” Thomas folded his arms over his chest, making him seem even larger than he already was.

“I’ll be asking questions of all of you.” Eli shifted his weight. “It is what I do. Solve crimes. Find the bad guys. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. So if you want to make my stay shorter, then tell me what happened to Jessica so I can do my job and get out of here.”

“And what if there are not any bad guys, as you say?” Thomas said. “What if Jessica’s death was an accident?”

“I find that a little hard to swallow after what happened this afternoon. I’m pretty sure you do, too. Look, I had planned to stay at the bed-and-breakfast. You’re clearly uncomfortable with—”

“No.” Thomas put his hand up stiffly. “It will not be said that I did not protect my family. Come. I will show you where you will stay tonight…in the horses’ stable.”

* * *

Hannah could not sleep. The sound of bullets zipped through her brain. The crash of glass breaking. The cold feel of Jessica’s hands. The black car whizzing away from the barn.

And Elijah Miller. The warm touch of his hands on her elbow, that soft way he gazed at her—even after all these years. A softness she did not deserve. She’d broken his heart when she’d chosen Peter. Or so his sister, Abigail, had told her. And for what? To have a family with Peter and his daughter—a family she would lose before she turned thirty. Even though she was unable to birth children, she’d wanted so badly to be a mother. She couldn’t have known how it would end. But not once had she regretted her choice in Peter. He had been a wonderful husband and Dat and friend.

She noticed, too, that Elijah seemed happy in his choice not to take vows. Still he had sat so comfortably at the dinner table among them—despite the awkwardness with Thomas. He’d put his weapon away and eaten a king’s portion of her cooking. That was most pleasing to her. He had talked freely about his work. And what work he did! She couldn’t imagine the frightening things he faced in the outside world. She could never…

Under streams of white moonlight, Hannah stared through her small window down the path to where Eli slept in the horses’ stable. Thomas was a bear for making him sleep out in the cold. Although the way Mama Ruth snored, Eli might find it a kindness not to be in the house with them.

What truly wasn’t right was that Elijah still had not been told anything about Jessica’s death and the black car. He was not stupid. He knew they weren’t telling him everything. And while she did believe that God wanted them to accept what had happened to Jessica, she also believed that there could be good in discovering the truth—if it kept her safe, if it saved another from Jessica’s fate. As Elijah had pointed out to her earlier, there was good in the work of the police. It was not merely to pass judgment and serve vengeance. They were there to protect, as well.

That’s why tomorrow she would talk to Thomas and convince him to tell Elijah the whole story of the black car, the change of clothes, the bloodstains and the intruder in the barn.

Elijah, who after all these years still made her heart race. He’d grown even more handsome since she’d seen him last—stronger, taller. When he’d arrived at the front of the house, her heart had nearly flipped inside her chest. He’d looked so fine and fancy in the tight-collared shirt and jeans. And those huge blue eyes of his had always muddled her thoughts. What fun they had had together so long ago. How quick he had always been to make her smile.

The groan of wood bending sounded from the stairwell. Hannah sat up quickly and held in her breath. Someone was on the stairs. Who could it be? They’d all gone to bed hours ago.

She listened, but Ruth’s snores filled the air again and there was nothing else to be heard. Maybe it was Thomas? He usually slept in Dawdi Haus, but he wasn’t much of a sleeper. He could be up checking on things. And, really, who could sleep with all that snoring?

Hannah sighed and pulled the covers over her shoulders. Thomas was a good man and very protective of those he loved. She knew that he cared for her, as she did for him. He was sweet to offer her marriage. But something had kept her from giving him an answer to his proposal. Today, after seeing Eli Miller, she couldn’t help wondering if her hesitation had something to do with racing pulses and easy smiles.

Should that matter, Lord? Should the shivers and chills a man gives us with a glance make a difference to our hearts?

She didn’t know. Truth be told she’d forgotten all about those kinds of feelings. Until today.

I must be the silliest woman on the earth to wonder such things, she scolded herself. I know what matters, Lord. That I serve You in all I say and do.

She doubted that included thoughts of Elijah Miller and his blue jeans. Goodness. What had gotten into her head? It wasn’t as if she and Elijah could ever be together. He was an outsider. She’d be shunned by the People—never allowed to return, or have a meal with them, or pray, or even speak with them. She would never even consider such a thing… .

Anyway, Elijah Miller wasn’t interested in her. Ach! He’d shown nothing but disdain at being back in Willow Trace. Her thoughts must be the result of a tired mind.

It was late. She needed sleep. Without Jessica, she had twice as much work to do around the house. Hannah closed her eyes tight. But still sleep did not come. In between the rhythmic crescendos of Nana Ruth’s loud expirations, Hannah heard the downstairs floorboards creak again. She sat up again and fumbled on the nightstand until she found her small candle and lit it. Should she go downstairs?

If Thomas wasn’t sleeping either, she would go down now and talk to him. She slipped from bed, pulled one of her dark frocks over her head and hooked it quickly up her back. After tucking her long braid into a bun, she grabbed a bonnet that lay on the chest at the end of her bed. It was Jessica’s, but it fit well enough. Then she blew out her candle and slipped down the stairs in bare feet.

“Thomas?” she whispered into the dark room. At the foot of the stairs, she searched the corners of the large room. A few beams of moonlight lit the space, as well as the dying embers in the fireplace. It must have been later than she thought. A shiver trickled down her spine. The hole in the window had left the room quite chilly. Thomas would have to get a new piece of glass for that right away.

Speaking of Thomas, where was he? The downstairs seemed to be empty. “Thomas? Are you there?”

Hannah shuffled to a chair in front of the fire where a nice warm quilt lay. She unfolded the heavy blanket and draped it over her shoulders.

Click.

Her head turned fast to the front door. It popped open and swung wide, letting in another blast of cool air.

“Thomas?” she called loudly this time. Still no answer. Had the door opened on its own? No. Thomas had locked it.

Hannah’s pulse spiked as she had that feeling again—that feeling she’d had in the barn the other morning. The feeling she was not alone. Coming downstairs had been a bad idea.

She peered out onto the dark porch. “Thomas? Are you there?”

Another floorboard creaked; her heart plummeted. Thomas was not outside. But someone was there, in the kitchen. She had to get back upstairs and wake Nana Ruth. Forgetting the opened door, Hannah raced back over the hardwood floors to the bottom of the steps.

She looked up, ready to ascend, when she realized her mistake. The intruder was not in the kitchen. He was on the stairs.

A man dressed in all black came at her from the stairwell, face hidden in the shadows. He pushed her down to the floor, almost as if he had tripped. Her hands became pinned beneath her chest. Her head landed with a thunk onto the hardwood.

“Don’t make a sound,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I just… I need the journal. You have it. I know you do.”

He came down on her, pressing a knee in her back so that she could not get free. “So, where is it?”

Where was what? What was he talking about? She knew nothing about a journal. “I have no journal,” she pleaded. “I know not of what you speak.”

He pushed her harder into the floor. “But you have to. You have to have Jessica’s journal. She said you knew about it, about where it was. I need it. You need it. Where is it?”

Jessica’s journal? What was he talking about? How could Jessica have a journal? Hannah and Nana Ruth had already been through the girl’s things. There was nothing like a journal. She knew not what to say to this man. But she wondered if this journal he spoke of was the reason for Jessica’s death.

Help me, Lord. What do I do?

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