Finding Mercy (9 page)

She had an overwhelming urge to hug him, to smooch him. She had to get out of here now.

“Hey, what did I say? Where are you going?” he demanded as she jumped to her feet.

“Into the barn to see if my grandfather’s old telescope is still there. When you mentioned my grandmother, I remembered I’d told the sheriff I’d check on that, see what kind it was and all,” she threw back over her shoulder as she brushed grass and lavender off her skirt.

“Wait up! I’m walking better but not running down hills. Ella!”

She both wanted to wait for him and flee from him. She’d never felt like this with any man, and it scared her more than the idea of anyone looking down at them from the hilltop or a black van or even from a man-made satellite.

* * *

“You know, honey, I don’t mean to rush you into anything if you’re not ready,” Jack told Ray-Lynn and put his wineglass on her coffee table next to her bobblehead dolls of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. Ray-Lynn’s
Gone with the Wind
collection was one she’d had for years, so at least she’d remembered that after her head trauma.

They sat tight together on the couch in her living room. “You’ve been really patient and loving,” she told him, putting her goblet down too. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember our first courting days, but you’ve given me a second time to treasure.”

He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it. “I know you’re the kind of woman who expects commitment, and you’ve got it. You say the word, you think you’re ready for forever, I am too.”

She cuddled closer, holding to him, wishing she knew herself—her real, previous self—as well as she felt she knew him now. But this Ray-Lynn—the one the two of them, with Hannah’s help, had rebuilt from the disastrous wreck of her memory—was ready to move on. “Me too, Jack—forever, with you.”

Tears glazed his eyes but he smiled. “Just gotta promise me you won’t make me look at that movie of yours every week,” he said, “not even every month, sweetheart. Three time’s the charm. I got
Gone with the Wind
memorized. So how ’bout we do a scene from it right now?”

“Like what?” she said, smiling at his teasing tone. “At least we don’t have a Civil War to face.”

“Got a war ’gainst crime going on here off and on, but I know you understand how I got to fight that. No, I was thinking ’bout another scene.”

“If you’re going to leave, maybe the scene where Rhett and Scarlett parted when he was going off to war, and he gave her an amazing kiss, I hope.”

“Nope,” he said, standing and pulling her to her feet. “I know I’m jumping the gun—though I’m asking you to marry me—but it’s the one where he carried her up the stairs to a wild night in bed.” He stooped a bit and swept her up into his arms, bouncing her once to get a good hold.

“Why, I do declare,” she said in her best Southern accent, “though you have already swept me off my feet, I do give a damn about your avid attentions, Sheriff Jack Freeman! But don’t you hurt your back! I can walk up those stairs just fine.”

But he didn’t listen as he carted her upward to the landing, turned and climbed the rest of the way. But deep within, Ray-Lynn still had fears. That something would happen to him, that she’d lose her memories of all this as she had before. Words from the novel swirled through her mind where Rhett carried Scarlett up those stairs, up into darkness again, darkness that was all around.

* * *

Ever since the local rash of barn arsons, Ella had stopped using lanterns in the barn, though
Daad
and the boys still did. She usually just grabbed the big flashlight she kept inside the door. But the boys must have moved it from its right place, and she had to fumble for it in the dark. Yes, there it was.

Even before she turned on its bright beam, the familiar sounds of the barn calmed her a bit: the horses snorting and stamping, the
whoo-whoo
of the barn owl in the loft that kept the mouse population down. But Andrew’s footsteps behind made her nervous again.

“Ella, don’t go darting off like that, because I can’t keep up yet. My ankle’s better but not back to normal.”

“Sorry,” she said only, and lit the way for both of them. With this man around, nothing was back to normal. Would it ever be, even when he left? She had the strangest urge to share with him, as she had no one else, that the barn was one of her havens when she had her terrifying attacks of the drowning blackness. But better she keep that a secret, as well as how he made her go all hot and shaky.

She heard him close behind her as she went over to pet Fern. “You’d best wait here,” she told Andrew, “because I have to climb. The wooden chest in the loft is where the old telescope will be. Can you—can you wait in the dark?”

“I’m tempted to go up with you. Can you see the stars through the drop-down straw storage opening up there?”

“Hay and straw aren’t the same thing, city boy. It’s a haymow and the spring supply of it is almost gone.”

“I know I have a lot to learn,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “This is a whole new world, one that—that fascinates me.”

He reached out and brushed away a stray tendril that had come loose from her
kapp.
She nearly swayed into him. It took every shred of strength she had to move toward the ladder to the loft, but he reached for her hand, tugged her back and turned her to face him. He took the flashlight from her fingers, clicked it off and put it on the edge of a feed trough. And then it happened.

9

ANDREW PULLED HER gently but firmly toward him and touched her lips with his, as if just taking a taste of her. Lightning jolted through the barn, through her body. His kiss was soft, but his hands were strong on her waist. He tipped his head. She could tell that much in the dark because he breathed now on her cheek and not her nose. He was breathing fast, faster, but so was she.

“If you tell me to stop now, I will,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “Otherwise, I won’t stop for a while. However long I have here, I will never forget you, Ella enchanted. That was a movie title once, I think, and that’s the way it is for me with you, so—”

Not only did she not stop him, but she looped her arms around his neck. Oops, he was taller than she remembered and she hit one of his ears, knocking off his hat. But that hardly mattered, nothing did but being close to this man.

His mouth came down hard on hers, mastering her, making her want to give in to him desperately. His mouth was a bit open, so she opened hers. His tongue teased her lips, invaded, sleek and smooth. She tightened her arms around his neck, and his hands held her waist like iron bands. How angular and flat he was—his stomach and hips, so unlike the places she was soft and round. She was getting dizzy, she couldn’t breathe and it was all so wonderful and so—forbidden.

They came up for a breath, and she managed a ragged “I can’t,” but she knew she didn’t mean it. Yet this is what she’d scolded and judged her friends for, being taken in by an English man. Now—right now—she finally understood and forgave Sarah for running off to the world with Nate. At least Hannah had resisted Linc Armstrong’s lures and snares.

“Can’t what?” he asked, when she’d almost forgotten what she’d said. Chills raced down her spine, but she felt hot all over, weak-legged. Despite her dress and apron, she could feel her breasts pushed to his hard chest as if there was nothing between him. He had startled, no doubt surprised that Amish women did not wear bras.

He propped her up, pressing her against a barn beam and kissing her again, then twirling her around and holding her with his hands on her waist and then slowly, gently kneading her bottom right through her skirts. Alarm bells went off in her head, louder than a police car siren, louder than a shout…

She gasped and tugged away, breaking the kiss she needed and wanted.

“What was that—who?” Andrew asked as they heard the voice again.

“
Daad,
outside, calling your name, not mine.”

He muttered something and pulled away. He fumbled for the flashlight a moment, then put it in her hand. “Go up in the loft and check for the telescope,” he whispered. “And fix your cap and hair. I’ll go see what he wants, say I’m waiting for you down here because I didn’t want you in here alone. Now! No, wait, shine that flashlight on the floor until I find my hat.”

She still fell stunned by the heat of him, by her own runaway emotions. Ella enchanted, as he’d put it. But she did as he said. What he intended to tell
Daad
wasn’t a lie. She hesitated partway up the ladder as Andrew called out, “Eben, we’re in here. Ella’s in the loft looking for her grandfather’s old telescope.”

The barn door creaked open. “A visitor for you, Andrew,”
Daad
said, “one you can trust. Mr. Branin is here, walked in not looking like himself, but it’s him. Ella,” he called out louder, “what did you find up there?”

“Just a second! Still looking!” she called down and scurried the rest of the way up the ladder. She saw the big old trunk, once
Grossdaad’
s tool chest. Gideon Raber had been the master barn builder who had taught Seth all he knew.

Ella lifted the heavy, dusty lid and shone the beam of light inside. Thumb-tacked to the inner top of the chest was a big map of Sarasota, Florida, where he and
Grossmamm
used to spend their winters in the small Amish colony called Pinecraft. So few outsiders realized that Amish families, especially the elderly, took a bus to visit Florida.

She saw, nicely laid out, his collection of seashells she used to love to handle, including her favorite, the big pink-and-white conch. She’d held it to her ear many times, imagining she could hear the roar of the distant ocean in its depths. When she was young, she’d pictured herself swimming there, but after she nearly died in the pond, no more. Yet she had saved every postcard of the palm trees and beaches of south Florida her grandparents had sent home, and it all enchanted her—Ella enchanted, gazing in this treasure chest once again. She also saw an old leather carpenter’s apron and a few tools; Seth used most of them now. But nothing else.

“Not here!” she called down.

“
Ya,
it is!”
Daad
shouted up. “Saw it a couple weeks ago. Too big to miss. Even thought about getting it out but got too busy. The boys don’t have it—unless Seth took it with him.”

“That must be it, but he’s got a few things on his mind besides that.”

She played the light around the area, but nothing looked out of place, nothing missing. “I’ll be right down!” she shouted, but took time to smooth her hair and repin her prayer
kapp
. She still felt shaky all over, even in the pit of her belly. The Amish woman and English man had done what was verboten together, and she’d loved every minute of it.

She was ready to go down when she heard Andrew’s voice, not below in the barn, but floating up from outside through the haymow drop-down door, which was propped open in this mild weather. And a strange voice, Mr. Branin’s, of course, then Andrew answering. They must be huddled against the barn in the dark.

Andrew: “Yeah, working fine except it seems someone might be watching the place. The oldest daughter, Ella, has been followed and harassed, but even the sheriff and his deputy aren’t sure why or by whom. I’m hoping it’s not related to me.”

Mr. Branin: “I’ll hang around for a few days, though don’t expect to see me. I’m pretty good at playing the invisible man.”

Andrew: “So I see, with that Amish getup. Gerald, I don’t believe they can find me again—not here—but if anything else weird happens, I’m out of here, however much they’ve made me feel at home. Bad enough I’m in the bull’s-eye, but I could never forgive myself for collateral damage.”

What did
collateral
mean? Ella wondered. And she’d just die if—
when
Andrew left.

Mr. Branin: “Listen, just stick it out, and I’ll tell Linc Armstrong to stay away. He’s a malcontent lately, and he doesn’t need to be upsetting your hosts by horning in, Alex—Andrew.”

Alex? Mr. Branin had only thrown in
Andrew
after he’d made the slip. Alex. So was Andrew’s real name Alexander? The only one of those she’d ever heard of was Alexander the Great, maybe some important Roman or Egyptian. But she had to admit, whether that was their guest’s real name or not, she thought this Alexander was pretty great, and not just at kissing. Even
Daad
admired how he had given up his own life to do what was right to testify against someone evil—maybe someone who made spy satellites.

Their voices were fading now, but Ella heard Andrew give Connie Lee’s name to Mr. Branin. She was sure of it now: the Chinese were after Alex/Andrew’s former company or him because they wanted information on building a spy satellite, and, of course, he’d refused. So should she turn Connie Lee’s deal down or try to find out more about her to help Andrew?

Wishing the two men hadn’t walked away, Ella scurried down the ladder.

* * *

The next morning, still feeling starry-eyed in more ways than one, Ella helped
Mamm
pack the food, including her lavender breads and
Daad’
s jars of honey she was taking over to the Eshes in her buggy. Then Ella drifted out toward her house to prepare lavender-scented candles to light for the evening wedding meal tomorrow. It was going to be an exciting day, Andrew’s first time with many of her people. Right now, since his ankle was better, he was helping Abel hitch the team of four big Belgians that pulled the plow.

No one seemed to have guessed that she and Andrew had been smooching last night, except maybe
Grossmamm,
who had taken Andrew under her wing and still had eyes sharp as a hawk’s. And she’d told Ella that her cheeks were bright pink and, since she’d been out after dark without her bonnet, was she forgetting to wear it during the day so she was getting sunburned?

Inhaling the scent of her lavender, treasuring the mild morning and her memories of last night, Ella fumbled for the house key she had tied on a plastic coil around her wrist. But when she looked up and saw what hung from the back door of her house, she stopped short and gasped.

Someone had nailed a torn, bloody-looking scarecrow with a painted, grotesque, grinning face to a crude cross made from long spikes of lavender. She recognized the scarecrow as one stored in the barn, though its face had been disfigured.
Ya,
someone had been in the barn, taking things from there. The scarecrow was wrapped in something dirty and torn—her cape she’d last seen draped over the license plate of that black van!

And the cross no doubt from her lavender! Her mind jumped to a use of the herb in the past, one Connie Lee had not mentioned. During plague times in Europe, a cross of lavender nailed to a door was supposed to ward off disease and evil. But someone evil had done this! Her lavender was once a symbol of love, but she shuddered now to see the perverted, clever threat here, one surely aimed at her.

Had this been done by a person who knew something about lavender? Because of the scarecrow nailed to a cross, was someone mocking the Lord, mocking Amish beliefs? Surely, Connie Lee had not sneaked back after her visit last night to put this here. If so, wouldn’t Gerald Branin have seen her, if he was lurking around, disguised Amish and thinking he was invisible?

And who could have been sneaking into their barn for the scarecrow—and maybe the telescope? Who had cut her lavender? It looked like the Munstead variety that grew at the very top of the field where no one could see it from the house. When she was younger she’d never liked to work the plants up that high because the next high hill seemed so loom over her, so foreboding.

She started to run for
Daad
or Andrew, but for the first time in weeks, she felt it coming, the black sickness that tried to drown her. It coiled around her, squeezing the breath from her chest, pressing in on her forehead. Her stomach roiled; her vision got grainy and wavy. Someone would see her and think she was crazy. Here it was a bright morning, the day before the wedding, and she was going to lose control, lose herself…

Gritting her teeth, panicked, she ripped the cross and crucified scarecrow off the door, unlocked it and ran inside. She slammed the door, threw the hideous thing on the floor, kept going. Hide in the basement? She’d done that before, but darkness was already closing in around her, and it was doubly dark down there. The bathroom upstairs? She could just say she felt nauseous if anyone came looking for her.

Holding her sides, Ella thudded up the stairs, bouncing off the walls, hitting her hip against the banister. She ran into the bathroom. Thank God, the morning light came in. She closed the bathroom door, then, leaning against the corner of the tub, she curled up sideways on the hard tiled floor, gasping for air. She couldn’t breathe! She couldn’t think. She couldn’t fight the drowning currents of dark, deadly fear.

* * *

As Abel giddyapped the big work team away—the Budweiser horses had nothing on those big babies, Alex thought—he actually wished he was going out to work in the fields with him. It was a great day, and, despite the allure Ella had for him, he didn’t want to spend more time weeding lavender, or even working in the barn at tasks he’d volunteered to do.

But along the road and out in the open fields, sitting up on the wagon seat or plowing, he’d be an easy target. Abel could be injured too. At least he’d be busy tomorrow at Seth Lantz’s day wedding. He hadn’t even met the man yet, but he’d heard plenty about him from his family, and Ella had filled him in on the bride—the bishop’s daughter, Hannah Esh, one of her two best friends. The other one, Sarah Kauffman, she’d said, had been banned from her people when she “went to the world and married a modern,” and she missed her a lot. At the wedding, Alex would finally face the entire Amish congregation, but he was yearning for men’s work today.

He knew next to nothing about farming, but it seemed so honest, so clean to him, despite the sweaty, soiled clothes and the dirt under their fingernails the Lantz men had when they returned. Wouldn’t they flip out if he told them he used to get an occasional manicure? That seemed really stupid to him now. So much of what he used to value seemed frivolous here in this solid, slow-paced place. New York and SoHo seemed far away. How had he ever put up with working all day in an enclosed office suite, even a luxurious one with lofty windows? Compared to these soft, rolling hills, he was sure the tall buildings of home would suffocate him now.

He glanced over at what he’d come to think of as the lavender shop, since Ella wasn’t living there now. Was it his presence that had triggered the attack on her? Did someone who liked to harass the Amish think she was easy game? Or had some idiot taken a perverse liking to her? He should talk: though he’d not been here a week yet, he was really attracted to Ella, even when he knew it was wrong of him to so much as touch her.

Despite that, he walked over to the lavender house and knocked on the back door. It was studded with four nails, some with tatters of black cloth and straw—or was it hay?—clinging to them. Now why had she done that to her door? “Ella! You need any help carrying more stuff in from the shed?”

No answer. He looked in the back window. The narrow room just inside was a small sunporch or mudroom, but he could see beyond to the kitchen. No Ella, though he was certain she’d been heading this way.

He turned back and scanned the lavender field, his gaze racing up to its crest where pale purple herbs stopped partway up the hill. If he hadn’t been tracked to Atlanta and shot at there, he’d hike all the way up right now to look around, but he didn’t need his ankle acting up again either.