A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (11 page)

From the way Jonah had been hovering near the house, Adam suspected his brother was interested in one of the young women at the quilting. The idea of shy Jonah closing in on a lady friend after years of patient observation made him smile.

“This is ready to go.” Adam stacked wood high in his brother’s arms. “You can be the hero who feeds the potbellied stove.”

“I can do that,” Jonah said, lugging the wood toward the door.

When Adam turned back toward the driveway, Simon waved as he raced down the rutted lane, swinging his plastic lunch cooler in one hand. But something emerged over the rise behind the children. A dark vehicle rolled slowly toward the house.

The sheriff’s cruiser.

Fear twisted through Adam, a sharp stone in his belly. The last time Hank Hallinan had come out this way, he’d been trying to gather evidence for the homicide investigation.

Was he back with more questions? Or had something else happened?

Quickly calculating, Adam knew Sadie was safe at home today, not working at the hotel. The little ones were inside, and the
schoolkids were now in sight. It had to be old news. That was some consolation.

Leaving his hat and coat on the woodpile, Adam strode down the lane to meet the sheriff. The children paused at the sight of the passing cruiser, then broke into a run, curious to see what was going on.

The vehicle pulled right up to the house, meeting Adam beside the two parked buggies. Sheriff Hank emerged from the driver’s side.

“Adam. How’s it going?” Even with his slight paunch, Hank cut a fine appearance in his dark uniform. Black stripes ran down the sides of his creased navy pants, and the front of his parka was decorated with his sheriff’s star as well as three rows of medals. He reached into the car for a hat to cover his snow-white hair before closing the door.

“Can’t say I’m happy to see you, Hank,” Adam admitted. “There’s still a lot of heartache here, and you know the Amish attitude toward the punishment aspect of law enforcement.”

“I respect both points.” Hank moved away from the car, motioning for Adam to walk along with him. “You know I would have called, but …” He shrugged. “The phone shanty doesn’t work well for incoming.”

“True,” Adam said, thinking of the phone shanty down the road that they shared with Uncle Nate’s family. Mostly it was there to call out in an emergency.

The four children raced to a breathless stop behind the sheriff’s vehicle, mesmerized by the flashing red and white turret lights. Simon’s mouth hung open in awe and a shade of fear as he looked past the vehicle to stare at Hank. Of course. Simon would always remember Hank as the man who questioned him about his parents’ murders.

If he’d been on top of the situation, Adam would have asked
Hank to wait while he walked Simon into the house, out of sight, but it was too late for that. The damage had been done.

“Listen, the last thing I want to do is cause your family any more grief over your folks,” the sheriff was saying. “I’m sorry we hit a dead end with that investigation. But I was starting to think the worst of it was over when, just last week, I started getting calls and visits from media people.”

“Really?” Adam shook his head, rubbing at the sweat cooling on the back of his neck. “Why now, Hank? Has something changed? Did you come across some new evidence?”

“No progress there. Seems to be because the anniversary of their deaths is coming up,” the sheriff said. “The reporters want an update on the case. They’re asking where the family lives and how to get in touch.”

“You know we don’t want publicity.” Adam frowned at the prospect of someone from his family being photographed. Everyone in Lancaster County knew the Amish avoided the graven image, based on biblical teachings and the notion that such things led to personal vanity. “And I need to protect the younger kids. We can’t have a media frenzy.”

“Which is why I sent them packing.” Hank pinched his upper lip, stroking the white mustache that grew there. “But just as soon as I send one of them away, another three call or email the station house. They’re coming out of the woodwork.”

Lord, help us
. Adam looked up to the cold blue heavens and let out a sigh. “We don’t want them here, Hank.”

“Believe me, I know what a nuisance they can be. Of course, I’d never give them information about anyone in Halfway, but I felt the need to warn you about what was going on. Thing is …” The sheriff glanced back at the children, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I thought you might want to take some precautions, limit the children’s trips into town for a while. Not that they’re in danger,
but there’s a chance they’ll be approached by reporters. Not everyone respects Amish customs, and I know you don’t want photos of the family on TV or, God forbid, reeling out over the Internet.”

“That’s a good point.” Adam thought of Simon, who would be one of the main targets of the media. Maybe he should homeschool for a while. “The children know they’re not to appear in graven images, but they could be taken advantage of easily.”

“Just thought you should know.”

Adam met the sheriff’s pale gray eyes. “Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem.” Hank turned to take in the children behind him. The three girls stared, their eyes round as whoopie pies. Simon was nowhere in sight. “Ladies … aren’t you getting cold standing out here?”

“Ya, but we don’t want to miss anything,” Ruthie said. The voice of honesty.

“You’re not missing anything,” Hank said wryly. “The best part of this show is the flashing light on the cruiser. Did you girls have a good day at school today?”

The twins nodded politely.

Ruthie stepped right up to the big man and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you going to put someone in the jailhouse?”

Straightening to his full height, Hank dwarfed Ruthie, but his voice was gentle when he spoke. “We save the jailhouse for the really bad guys. So far today, it’s empty.”

She sucked in her lower lip and nodded, satisfied for now.

Pebbles crunched underfoot as Adam walked Hank back to the cruiser.

“You let me know if any unwanted visitors come knocking on your door. There are laws against trespassing.”

“My father used to say that God gave us plenty of farm to shield us from Englishers.”

“He had a point there. And in my experience, the reporters seem to know where they don’t belong. I don’t think they’ll invade your privacy here.”

“Thank you, Hank.” Adam extended his hand for a handshake, an inadvertent slip back into the gestures of the English.

The sheriff shook his hand firmly, then climbed into the vehicle.

Watching the cruiser disappear beyond the bare beech trees, Adam realized he was getting cold. He’d left his coat and hat by the woodpile.

“Did you see his gun?” Leah asked, her face a small pale patch beneath her kapp and scarf.

“I wonder if he’s ever used it.” Susie’s voice was breathless with high drama. “You know, it’s for hunting people, not animals.”

“Why was he here?” Ruthie demanded.

“Sheriff Hank wanted to warn us that there might be some reporters around for the next few weeks,” Adam explained, looking around for Simon. “He says they’ve called him, asking questions about Mamm and Dat. We’ll talk more about it later, but in general, we’re to watch out for photographers and reporters.”

“Kinder!”
Mary called from the door. “Kumm.”

“I hate when she calls us children,” Ruthie said, her forehead creased with concern. “I am eleven years old, not a baby anymore.”

“You all need to go inside,” Adam said. “But where’s Simon?”

“Die Scheune,”
Ruthie answered. The barn. “He got scared of the flashing light, I think.”

Adam split away from the girls and jogged to the horse barn, glad for the movement, which warmed his freezing body. Inside the barn a deep voice lingered on a few notes and Adam recognized one of the hymns from the Ausbund, the songbook used in preaching services. He followed the source of the song to a stall, where Gabriel was spreading fresh hay with a pitchfork.

“Have you seen Simon?” he asked.

Although Gabe kept singing, he paused from his chore and jabbed the handle of the pitchfork toward the loft overhead.

“Denki,” Adam said quietly, moving toward the ladder. “Simon?” he called, not wanting to startle the already frightened boy. “Are you up there?”

He paused on the second-to-the-top rung and listened. The only sounds were Gabe’s voice and the scrape of the pitchfork as he shoveled in time with the hymn.

“Simon?” he tried again.
“Was ist letz?”

When he said the phrase, in his mind he heard his mamm’s voice and thought of the countless times she had come to console him when he was a boy Simon’s age. “What’s wrong, dear Adam?” she would say, folding him into her arms. “What’s the matter?”

Gripping the worn wood of the ladder, he felt a surge of anger that Simon didn’t have Mamm to comfort him. Instead, he was stuck with Adam, who knew next to nothing about children. A man so pitifully prepared for fatherhood, he doubted he would ever have children of his own.

But Simon needed him now.

Climbing the last rung, his head rose into the loft. Simon sat huddled beside a bale of hay, his hat crooked, his face wet with tears.

“Ach, Simon.” Adam crouched beside his brother, their faces inches apart. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Simon shook his head. His eyes and nose were red, and tears matted the dark hair against his cheeks.

“You were scared by something,” Adam said. “What? Because you don’t have to be afraid of Sheriff Hallinan.”

“Not him. It’s the bear,” Simon said, his voice breaking with a sob. “The bear wore those pants. Pants with a stripe.”

Adam held back a groan of frustration at the mention of bears
once again. How could he help his brother when he kept reverting to a fairy story? A bear with striped pants.

“I know you don’t believe me, but the bear killed them.” Simon’s shoulders shook as a new tear spilled down his cheek. “It was the bear.”

When a pathetic moan escaped Simon’s lips, Adam felt his throat grow thick. His job was to help, not to judge. “Simon …” Sitting beside him, he scooped the boy into his arms and held on tight. “Okay, it was the bear. The bear killed them.”

As if Adam’s words fueled the fire, a sob burst from Simon. A swell of emotion overcame Adam as he closed his eyes and rocked the boy gently.

And Mamm’s words came to mind again.

“
Was ist letz, Liewi?
What’s wrong?” she would coo, her voice deep and rich with the confidence of a grown-up able to lessen the pain of a childhood hurt. It was up to Adam to be the wise one now; the older, wiser voice capable of easing a young one’s mind.

“I want you to know that you’re safe, Simon,” he whispered. “We will take care of you. You must know how Mary and I work and plan so that you have good food and a good life on this farm.”

“But Mary wants to leave.” Simon’s voice came out as a tortured squeak. “I heard her talking with Sadie. She wants to go away and marry Five.”

Anxiety flared at the thought of losing their oldest sister, though it shouldn’t have been news at all. Of course, Mary had to be eager to start a family of her own with John Beiler. Was the idea of losing her adding to Simon’s anxiety?

“We won’t truly lose Mary when she weds Five. She will always be your sister who loves you. And you can count on your family to take care of you, with God’s blessing. Do you hear me?
Verstehst
?”

A whimpered breath indicated that Simon understood.

“And there is no bear out there now, Simon. That’s the truth.”

“I know.” Simon sniffed. “But it hurts, Adam. It hurts me to talk about it.”

Adam released his brother so that he could see his face. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, thinking it might help to be more specific.

Simon pressed the fingertips of one hand to his chest. “In my heart. It hurts in my heart.”

“Then we’ll pray to God for healing,” Adam said. “We’ll ask Him to make our hearts new again. Can you do that with me?”

“Ya.” Simon let out the stiff breath he’d been holding. “I pray to God all the time, but I don’t think He’s been listening.”

“He listens.” Even as Adam said the words, he realized he had better start believing them. Lately he’d been praying out of a sense of duty, a sense that God needed His chunk of Adam’s time, just like everyone else. How foolish he’d been, not to share his burdens with God. Jonah had been right about his desire to sacrifice himself; he’d been trying to shoulder a burden alone, when help had been there all along. If he was going to convince Simon to trust in God’s love, he had better know that truth in his own heart. “God listens, all right,” he told his younger brother. “But if we want help, we need to lay our burdens down.”

Simon nodded, a new light in his eyes. A light of promise. A glimmer of hope.

ear and excitement warred within her heart as Remy copied the last detail of the Halfway map, then tossed the pen down and rubbed the crick in her neck. What time was it? Almost two
A.M
., and there were still so many details she hadn’t been able to find over the past few days.