A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (33 page)

They worked together with barely a word passed between them. While Adam added wood to the stove, Remy tended to Simon, who lay shivering on the daybed.

The poor boy’s body was racked with tremors. She quickly unfolded
a quilt and wrapped it around him. His little face was still puckered with tension, his lips mumbling indecipherable warnings.

“Oh, Simon, it’s hard on you.” Remy settled beside him, stroking his hair. “I know it’s hard, sweetie.”

When Remy was ten, she, too, had paced the halls at night with a wild look in her eyes. Not that she remembered details from those nocturnal ramblings, but she’d had a capable nanny who was well versed in child behavior and knew that night terrors were a normal part of growth for some children.

It had been years since she’d seen her nanny Fatima, a soft-hearted, buxom woman who had no qualms about speaking her mind to Herb when it came to defending Remy.

Adam closed the grate on the stove and took a seat in a chair opposite the daybed. “Thank you.” His eyes flicked over to Simon, whose chest now rose and fell in deep breaths. “He’s been suffering these terrors for the past few months.”

“How often?”

“A few times a week. Sometimes every night.”

“And they usually happen around an hour after he goes to sleep?”

Adam nodded. “Sounds like you know a thing or two about night terrors.”

“Been there, done that. Although in my case, I was the patient. My nanny put up with these episodes nearly every night for a while.”

“Your nanny? You really are a princess, aren’t you?”

“No … Fatima made it clear, I was not royalty.” She closed her eyes and smiled at the thought of Fatima, with her wide girth, chocolate brown skin, and jangling bracelets, telling Remy that she was “no princess, and this is no castle, so you’ll be picking up after yourself today.”

“Still, I’m very grateful for the things that she taught me. I still
love Fatima. She was there for me when I needed a mother, and she made me part of her family. Sometimes, when my father was away, we would go to visit with her family—there were baptisms and communions—and that was so much fun.” Fatima’s relatives had been the only family Remy knew for a few years, and they weren’t legally related. Fatima used to say, “We are all part of God’s big family.”

She stroked the boy’s back, running her hand over the crevice between his two shoulder blades. “He’s fast asleep now.”

“Warming him up always brings him out of the terror. I suppose it’s soothing.”

“That makes sense. For me, Fatima said she had to turn all the lights on in the house. Apparently the bright light snapped me back to reality.”

“So how did you get cured of your night terrors?”

“Fatima says they went away on their own. A few months before I turned twelve, they just faded.”

“That’s what we’re hoping for with Simon. The doctor said most kids grow out of them. There’s a chance that they’ve been brought on by stress over Mamm and Dat’s deaths. Lately he seems to be reliving the night of the murders, and that part tears me up.”

“It must be really hard on you. Although I know it’s a form of sleepwalking, it’s really scary to witness.” Simon’s rants in the hall upstairs had turned her inside out for a few tense moments.

“It’s terrifying, all right.” Adam sank forward until his chin rested on his fists. “Sometimes it takes me right back to last year. The grief at losing our parents, and the fear that Simon was lost to us, too.” He rolled his head to the side to face her. “Sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with—”

“It’s no burden.” She smoothed back Simon’s hair, covering his perfect shell ear with her palm for one second. “If you haven’t
noticed, I’ve grown attached to your family. We argued the other night because I worry about Simon.”

“I realize that now.”

“And I’d like to know what happened that night. Maybe it’s irrational, but if I piece the details of the puzzle together in my mind, I feel like I’ll be better equipped to help Simon.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way. But with every detail I learn, it makes things worse. It’s an ugly picture of that night that forms in my mind.”

So Remy wasn’t the only one who had tried to picture the crime scene—as if, by working through the difficult pieces, she would reach a catharsis.

“I suppose my biggest question involves the police investigation. How could they just drop everything with a killer on the loose?”

Adam rubbed his eyes and straightened. “The investigation is still ongoing. I’ve known Hank Hallinan all my life, and he’s not one to let the ball drop, even if the media makes it look that way. He and his deputies followed every lead. They talked up everyone in Halfway, trying to find out who would want to hurt our parents. In the end, they had only a boot print in the mud. A man’s boot. A big foot, like size ten or eleven.” Adam shook his head. “It’s not much to go on.”

“Still … there had to be something else, some other evidence to pursue.” Remy had seen many crime shows in which perpetrators were found through computer scans of fingerprints, hair, or skin samples left at the scene. It seemed to her there had to be other leads to be investigated.

“Simon was the only witness, and he was scared into silence.”

But now he’s remembering things … a bald head, something about a tattoo or birthmark shaped like Florida
. It was vital to notify the sheriff about Simon’s newfound memories as soon as the snow cleared,
but for now, Remy didn’t broach the topic, knowing it would only reignite their previous argument.

Adam rubbed his chin, his dark eyes full of rue. “The gunman used a .32-caliber handgun. An automatic. The police did find shell casings at the scene.”

“But they didn’t find the gun.” Remy knew that if they found a suspect with a weapon, a crime lab could match the gun to the bullets used. At least that was a possibility down the road.

“Apparently Dat was shot on the lane, almost behind the buggy. Mamm was sitting in the front of the buggy, Simon huddled under her legs but … you probably read about that.”

“I did.” The thought of Simon hiding beneath his dead mother made Remy shiver despite the warmth from the stove. “So … there were no fingerprints, and the weapon was never found. Though some people speculated that Simon had used the family gun.”

“A rifle.”

She shook her head. “People can be so vicious.”

“That, and they just wanted answers. You can’t blame them for that.”

“Actually, I could.” Remy adjusted the quilt over Simon, thinking that someone needed to look out for this kid. “He was traumatized, scared silent. And people had the nerve to accuse him of something so … so heinous?”

Adam took a deep breath, his gaze on the glowing stove. “I can’t worry about what the outside world thinks. And fortunately, Simon was protected from most of the rumors.”

“Was there anything that didn’t make it into the news reports? Anything unusual at the crime scene?”

“No.” He frowned down at the floor, then lifted his gaze. “Actually, yes, though they weren’t sure it was part of the crime scene at first. But when the sheriff and his deputies were searching the
nearby fields, they found the carcass of a ring-necked pheasant. A fresh kill, apparently. They found that the bullet in the pheasant matched the gun that shot my parents.”

“Really? Do you use a .32-caliber weapon to shoot a pheasant?”

“No. Never. Hunters use shotguns. The pheasant was found on King land, and no one ever hunts here. Dat saw the farm as a sanctuary for animals, a safe haven for living things. We eat meat and dairy, but no animal is slaughtered on King land.”

“I’d say that’s a telling piece of evidence.” Although she wasn’t sure exactly what it might prove.

“It really rattled Jonah and me. It was like a symbol of broken peace.”

Remy nodded. Although she had no idea what a ring-necked pheasant looked like, the symbolism was upsetting.

“So … the police have no official suspects? No more leads to follow?”

“I’m not a part of the investigation.” Adam shifted in the chair. “Remember, Plain folk cooperate with law enforcement, but we don’t seek revenge or justice.”

“Between you and me, do you think the police are right about it being a random crime? A hate crime perpetrated by someone passing through?”

His hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know what would make someone kill, and I don’t want to know. The bishop has told us not to dwell on the murders. I try not to, but a part of me dies every time I think of how I must have disappointed my parents.”

“But you came back,” she pointed out. “You liquidated years of your life. You gave up a successful carpentry business to come home and take care of your family.”

“Ya, but I didn’t get back in time.” His eyes burned black with despair. “My parents never knew their oldest son would return to the Plain life.”

“You’re beating yourself up,” Remy said. “You couldn’t have known … no one could have predicted what happened to your parents.”

“But if I’d been here, maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all. When they were late coming home, I could have ridden out to find them—”

“Adam, don’t do this,” she interrupted. “You couldn’t save them. If I’ve learned anything these past few days, it’s that God’s will is unexplainable. We need to accept the things He hands down, even if it hurts.”

He squinted at her as if trying to decipher a code. “That is what the Amish believe. How do you know that?”

“I’ve been talking with Mary and Sadie. And I listen.”

“You are a good listener.” He leaned toward her, the room suddenly warm and intimate around them. “I remember a train ride when I talked and talked, and you listened.”

She thought of their first encounter on that train. So many obstacles had been encountered since that day, and here they were, both wiser from the experience. “After we met on the train, after I learned the details of what happened to your parents, I was overwhelmed. There I was, feeling sorry for myself for returning home a failure, while your circumstances were a thousand times worse.”

“You can’t really compare lives that way.”

“But sometimes we need a dose of reality to jolt us out of self-absorption.” She turned away from the sleeping boy so that she faced Adam. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. It might sound weird and obsessive, but I became consumed with your story for a while. I read everything I could find about it, as if I could vicariously help you wade through the heartbreak.”

“That was kind of you.” His brown eyes captured hers. They were knee to knee, face-to-face; she wondered what it would take for him to kiss her.

Just a few inches closer
, she thought, wishing that he could read her heart.

“But you did help, more than you know. Did you know you were the only person I could really talk to in the past year?”

She swallowed, her heart beating strong for him. “Really?”

“Ya. I thought you were an angel. Sent from God.”

She smiled up at him. “And now what do you think?”

“You’re no angel.” His lips spread in a grin as he took her hands in his. “You, Remy McCallister, are a real woman. Flesh and bones.” His touch warmed her, and cradled in his large, strong hands her own hands felt tiny and delicate.

“You’re a real woman, and I thank God for bringing you to me.”

A tiny gasp escaped her throat as he tilted his face toward her and their mouths came together. The kiss was wide and white as the snowy fields beyond the window. Huge and expansive, the kiss opened up her world like a camera lens clicking open.

He still smelled of wood smoke and soap, a scent becoming familiar to Remy as she squeezed his big hands, wanting even more. How she longed to rise and press against him, their bodies aligned in that perfect fit of man and woman.

But even as she wanted more, she became aware of Simon snoring softly behind them. They were not alone. And they were in the wide-open kitchen of his house.

No, this would only be a taste.

But as their lips separated and Remy waited for her heartbeat to slow, she was struck by how simple it could be: two people, falling in love, wanting each other, dazzled by the first taste.

Love was truly a beautiful thing.

And this was only the beginning.

dam leaned back in the chair, trying to put a safe space between them before his heart, mind, and body raced too far ahead of good sense.

Such a kiss.

He’d never known a kiss that could turn a person inside out even as it healed. That kiss—like manna for the hungry, sweet spring water on a thirsty tongue—it was amazing.

He took a deep breath, trying to recover, and she turned away shyly, tending to Simon, who was still fast asleep. He expected his heartbeat to slow, but his pulse only quickened as his mind raced ahead. The sight of her leaning over Simon, soothing the child, was suddenly a picture of all their tomorrows. He saw her tending a baby—their child—with all the instinct and love of a mother.

He closed his eyes to clear his head, but the images came at him quick as the white lines down the center of a road.

Remy stretched out beside him in their marriage bed, her long curls gleaming over her supple ivory skin.