Anathema (32 page)

He burst through what seemed to be a wall of flames into an area the fire hadn’t reached. Hannah hadn’t noticed him. She fought to control an appaloosa who reared in terror. Two other horses bucked and snorted in the pen behind her. He ran to the other horses and entered the pen. Grabbing their halters, he led them out.

“Hannah, this way!” he screamed over the roar of the flames. On the wall behind him he saw something that made him gasp in more smoke. A broken cross had been painted on the wall in red paint above her head. Had she seen it?

She turned toward him. Dragging the horse with her, she started in his direction. He plunged through the way he’d come. Sprinkles of water dotted his face, and he blessed Luca for continuing to focus the water toward where it was most needed. It was all he could do to keep hold of the horses. They bucked and whinnied, but he dragged them toward the barn door, past the fire devouring everything in its path.

Then he was out. He released the horses and turned to go back to help Hannah, but she was behind him. Her clothes were blackened, and so was her face. A flicker of flame caught his attention. “Your skirt is on fire!” He leaped at her and bored her to the ground. She thrashed and fought him. “Lay still.” He scooped dirt onto her, then batted at the flames with his bare hands. He considered tearing her skirt from her, but one last roll and the flames were gone. Her skirt was seriously mangled, but she was alive.

He helped her up. They probably both smelled of soot. “Are you okay?” he whispered. He cupped her face in his hands. Even streaks of soot couldn’t mar her beauty. He ’d almost lost her. He kissed her, and she showed no signs of wanting to pull away.

“Your poor hands.” She lifted one to her lips and kissed it.

“It doesn’t hurt.” He looked down at the torn and burned flesh. It would hurt like the dickens when the adrenaline wore off.

With his arm around her, they stood and watched the roof crash in. Luca had given up the fight with the hose now that they and the horses had reached safety. By the time the volunteer fire department arrived, the barn was nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble.

They walked back toward the house and let the firemen do their job of extinguishing the embers. Luca and Sarah followed with the girls and Asia. No one had much to say. Such a traumatic event had left them drained. And it was no accident. They had to be told.

Matt reached the front door and opened it. “Could you send the children inside for a minute?”

Luca shot him a quick glance, then gave the girls a short order in German. They scampered past Matt into the house. He shut the door behind them. Sarah stepped closer to Luca as if for courage.

“I don’t think this was an accident,” Matt said.

Hannah put her hand to her mouth. “You saw the symbol?” She shuddered and clutched her arms around herself.

“Yep. On the wall.”

“What symbol?” Luca asked. “I saw nothing.”

“The Broken Cross, or Nero’s Cross, or whatever you want to call it. The same one that was on the wall in the house when the Schwartzes were murdered. Someone painted it in red inside the barn. And I smelled kerosene.”

“We keep kerosene for our lanterns and such,” Sarah put in. “The heat could have caused a container to explode.”

“It looked like an arsonist burn pattern,” Matt said. “A row of flames where the accelerant had been poured. Someone torched your barn. The firemen will confirm it, I’m afraid.” He had no doubt about it. He would tell the fire chief what he ’d seen and smelled.

“Who?” Hannah asked. “Reece?” Her voice was hoarse from smoke inhalation. Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the soot.

“That would be my guess. He’s trying to force you to go back to him. What better way than to target your loved ones, box you into a corner?”

Asia put her arm around Hannah. “Well, he can’t have her.”

Exactly Matt’s sentiments. The only problem was, he hadn’t figured out how he was going to keep her for himself once she knew the truth.

THEY’D MISSED HER aunt’s funeral, and Hannah never got to say good-bye. Tears burned the back of her throat as she glanced out over the collapsed barn. The shrill chirp of her cell phone was as unwelcome as the smell of smoke in her hair. She knew who it had to be.

She pulled out her cell phone and looked at the caller ID. Reece ’s number. She didn’t want to talk to him, but she forced herself to flip open the phone and hold it to her ear. “Reece, how could you burn down the barn?”

“I didn’t burn down the barn. I saw it was on fire, so I’m just calling to make sure you’re all right. Why do you always suspect me first?”

“Your track record speaks volumes,” she said. “I don’t believe you.” But his denial was so earnest.

“I know how much you love your horse. Lucy, isn’t it? Is she okay?”

Hannah closed her eyes briefly. Did she dare believe him? “If you didn’t torch the barn, who did? The Nero’s Cross symbol was painted on the barn.” The phone fell silent in her hand. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. “Reece?”

“I’m here.” His words were clipped. Angry. “I think I know who did it. But it wasn’t me. You have to believe me.”

Hannah found herself nodding. She could hear the truth in his voice. If not him, then who? “How did you get the baby here? After I fell down the steps?”

“Aw, hon, don’t hash up all that. Isn’t it enough to know she’s okay and we can get her back?”

“It would have taken at least six hours to drive from Wabash to here and back. I thought you were with me the whole time.”

He sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. One of my drinking buddies helped me. That’s all you have to know.”

Hannah curled her fingers into her palm so tightly her nails bit into the flesh. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she imagined that wild ride in the dead of night with a crying baby. A daughter crying for her mommy. A baby who had been ripped from loving arms and placed in another home. Did her baby know she was adopted?

“Hannah? You there, hon?”

Hannah couldn’t choke out a sound. She closed her phone and turned it off.

BY NOONDAY, BUGGIES packed the driveway and yard and lined the road leading to the house. Their Amish friends came bearing food, shovels, and other tools to begin clearing away the debris as best they could with the intermittent downpours of rain. Dump trucks from various businesses they owned began to appear to haul away the wreckage. By breakfast the next day, much of the heap had been cleared and lumber began to arrive. Helpful Amish swarmed over the farm like busy ants intent on doing good.

Hannah had watched this scene play out many times, but her heart always warmed at the generosity of her people.

“I thought I would make coffee soup for breakfast,” Sarah said.

“What?” Asia gave a shudder.

“It’s good.” Hannah’s mouth watered at the thought. “She ’ll pour coffee over saltines or bread—I like it best with saltines—then pour on milk and sugar. Wait until you try it.”

“I can wait. It sounds nasty. I like my coffee in a cup with cream and sugar.”

“It’s better than it sounds.” Hannah accepted the first bowl of coffee soup and carried it into the living room. The Amish flooding into the house jabbered in a mixture of German and English, and the familiarity brought her childhood flooding back.
Mamm
always fixed coffee soup for her birthday. She could still remember the first time she ’d been allowed to have it—on her fifth birthday. She finished the coffee, milk, and crackers that made up the soup and asked for more. Her mother had obliged. The caffeine had kept Hannah chattering to her mother far into the night.

Even Asia admitted the coffee soup was pretty good. Hannah finished her food and pulled out her last quilt square. Asia put down her word processor, and her dark eyes studied Hannah.

“I shudder to say anything, but should I just call your editor and tell her you’re not going to make it?”

“I don’t see any way I’m going to get it done in time. The quilt still needs to be assembled and all the quilting done. Ask her if she’d be willing to use my grandmother’s quilt. The big one on Irene ’s bed.”

“That won’t work. She wants one of your designs. I’ll just tell her you’ll make your original deadline.”

Sarah came to the door. “Don’t do that. The women will be here in a few minutes to do it.”

Hannah’s head came up to snare Sarah’s gaze. “I don’t understand. Why would they help me?”

“Because I asked them to.” Sarah held Hannah’s mother’s keepsake box in her hands. “I am going to confess at the next meeting.”

Hannah waited to hear what Sarah meant. They’d been through enough already—she didn’t want to drag Sarah into more turmoil.

“I took the ring, Hannah. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Hannah’s needle stilled in her hands. “You took my mother’s ring? Why?” Wasn’t it bad enough that her family had been stripped from her? Did Sarah and Luca have to begrudge her small mementos? She tried to keep her anger in check, but her foot began to tap restlessly.

“It was worth a great deal of money,” she said. “When we were engaged, Luca talked of nothing but expanding the greenhouse, of what he could do once he saved enough. I had nothing but love. I was here cleaning after the murders and I found it. It did no one any good in that box. I thought your mother would have wanted it to be used for something worthy. I sold it. I told Luca it was my dowry and he never asked where the money came from.”

“I see,” Hannah said. “You had no right.” Hannah had looked at the ring many times. It belonged to her. Her mother would have wanted her to have it.

“I know. Can you forgive me?” Sarah asked again, advancing into the room. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I judged you when I should have judged myself. Maybe I didn’t want you to expose what I’d done.”

Hannah wanted to hold on to her anger. “Does Luca know?”

Sarah sniffed. “Not yet. I’ll tell him tonight. I wanted to beg your forgiveness first.”

“You lied to him. Won’t he be angry? I have to be honest, Sarah—I’m angry. And I’m hurt.” Hannah found lies the hardest to forgive. They struck at the core of any trusting relationship, and since Reece, trust came hard to her. The lies about the ring had slipped off Sarah’s tongue all too easily.

“Yes, but he loves me. He will forgive me.”

“Can you get the ring back? I really want it, Sarah.”

Sarah’s eyes clouded. “I’m sure it’s been sold by now. You haven’t said if you forgive me.”

Hannah tried to struggle past the anger that still simmered. Sarah had no right to sell her mother’s ring. It was easy for Sarah to ask for forgiveness. She was the thief. But saying “I’m sorry” wouldn’t bring the ring back to Hannah. It was one thing to ask for forgiveness, but could Sarah extend it as easily as she asked for it?

“Sarah, what would you do if you’d married a husband who beat you?” she asked. She ’d thought her friend would answer quickly and tersely, but she kept silent and pondered the question.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said after Hannah began to think she wouldn’t answer at all. “I would not want my girls to see such a thing. I would not want to experience anything like that. I hope I would try to love the violence out of him.”

“Some people can’t be loved enough,” Hannah said. “I tried. Reece was too far gone.”

“Not for God,” Sarah said quickly.

“But I’m not God,” Hannah said. “And I did my best.” But had she? She’d been quick to slip out to sales to look for quilts in spite of his orders. Had she ever put him first? She ’d been so lonely in the early months, so ill equipped for marriage. At least half the blame was probably hers.

Sarah put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I’m not going to judge you, Hannah. I don’t know what shoes you’ve walked in.” She released her and went to pull out the quilting frame. “Now let’s get your quilt finished. The others are coming. We can talk later. But please, I so want your forgiveness.”

The hard coil of bitterness began to unwind in Hannah’s heart at the desperate plea in Sarah’s voice. “I forgive you.” She said the words not knowing if she meant them.

Hannah heard them then, women talking and laughing as they poured into the house with their needles and thimbles. Thunder rolled and rain swept the windows all afternoon, but none of them minded. By suppertime, the quilt was finished, and Hannah knew love never died. It just sometimes went underground.

MATT HAD NEVER seen anything like the busyness going on outside two days after the fire. Sunday had been the Amish day of rest, but they tackled the job with gusto on Monday. No wonder Hannah missed the warmth and love of these people. He turned to work on the pancakes he was making for the crowd eating at tables outside.

“We ’ll have a new barn up by the weekend if the rain holds off,” Luca said over breakfast. “When the tornado struck southern Indiana a few years ago, Amish friends from all over had the mess cleaned up and barns rebuilt in a couple of weeks.”

“I believe it,” Matt said. “The storm coming through here over the next few days is supposed to be ferocious with heavy rains and flooding.” Hannah stood beside him as he worked. His movements were awkward because of his burned hands. “Hannah”—he spoke too softly for anyone but her to hear—“I checked on the cemeteries in Wabash. No luck.”

She inhaled softly. “Thanks for checking. It is as I suspected. He told me one of his drinking buddies brought my daughter here and gave her away.”

More of Reece ’s lies? A grave would have proved his daughter wasn’t hers, but Matt’s hope had faded fast over the past week. His cell phone rang as he poured more batter into the skillet.

Hannah tried to take the spatula from him, but Luca shook his head and took his place instead. Matt shrugged and glanced at the caller ID. His grandmother’s name rolled across the screen. “Hey, Trudy,” he said. He noticed he had missed two calls this morning. Must have been when he was in the shower.

Her voice was at a near shriek. “I can’t find Caitlin!”

“Wait, I don’t understand. Caitlin is at your house?”

“Gina dropped her off this morning for a few hours, said she had something she had to take care of. She said she ’d call you to come get her. I fixed Caitlin’s breakfast, and when I called her to come eat, I couldn’t find her. I’ve looked everywhere.”