Miriam and the Stranger (26 page)

I
t was Thanksgiving Day, and Tyler had retired to his basement apartment at Deacon Phillips’s house after a sumptuous feast. Now he opened the e-mail on his tablet and peered at the screen. Deacon Phillips’s basement had no wireless connection, but Tyler had long ago signed up for Internet service for just such occasions.

A wry grin crossed Tyler’s face. What would Deacon Phillips think if he knew that his tenant had all the trappings of the world right in his basement? Or that he had passionately kissed Miriam Yoder on Sunday afternoon at her schoolhouse. Either revelation might motivate Deacon Phillips to ask him to leave this comfortable basement den.

He had no doubt what his own motives had been on Sunday afternoon. He found Miriam fascinating and was drawn to her. He’d wanted to kiss her for a long time. That she had harbored equal feelings for him had only sweetened the temptation. And he had been correct. He’d expected all week that Deacon Phillips
would accost him and demand an explanation. Though guilt had niggled at him, Tyler had pushed it away.

He doubted Miriam would confess her transgression, so he didn’t fear a revelation from that angle. No, he was more concerned with the other buggy that had driven past the schoolhouse just after he’d climbed in next to Miriam. She hadn’t noticed… but he had. She’d been too taken with his sudden action.

But so far no one had spoken up in accusation, so he simply took this as a warning to be more careful next time. Because there would be a next time. Of that he was sure. He should have gone to the Thursday evening youth gathering tonight, but Miriam wouldn’t be there if he had judged her correctly. She’d expect him to show up and would stay away. But he’d see her eventually, and he’d hold her in his arms again. He’d always had a way with women, and apparently his charms extended even into this cloistered Amish community. After all, Amish women were human too. But that thought brought the guilt again. He had no right to exploit Miriam’s innocence. He couldn’t marry the girl unless she left the community. He knew that much. And Miriam wouldn’t leave. Or would she? He’d have to find out.

Tyler focused on the e-mail in front of him. It was his pressing problem at present, and a whole lot less enjoyable than his pursuit of Miriam. This e-mail could prove even more explosive than flirting with an Amish bishop’s engaged girlfriend. “Better think twice about what you’re doing,” Tyler read out loud. “You know what will happen to your softhearted pacifist friends if this keeps up. Maybe that’s where the hurt should begin. Maybe a big ka-boom would temper your stubbornness!”

Tyler stood to pace the basement floor. This wasn’t the first threat. The warnings had increased though through the past week or so. His continued inquiries into corruption must have stirred up things. Who would have thought it? He might actually be onto
something big out here in the middle of no-man’s-land. Perhaps his ticket to fame as a journalist had indeed finally arrived.

Tyler laughed out loud. He had to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. No more big dreams that ended only in disappointment. He might have stumbled onto nothing more than a local corruption scheme, which would barely make the local paper once uncovered. Put that way, the pursuit hardly seemed worth the effort. He probably would have dropped his search already, focused as he was on his attraction to the community’s schoolteacher. But the two worked together. His search for corruption gave him a reason to stay in the community. Deacon Phillips and William Byler had spread the word among their brethren, but the cooperation came with limits. William had told him only yesterday, “Now you understand that the Amish won’t testify in court under any circumstance, Tyler. I wish you’d drop this thing anyway. It’s gone far enough. We don’t want the police on our properties or the authorities asking our children questions.”

But because his real focus had been on Miriam Yoder, Tyler had laughed off the suggestion and assured William. “They won’t be asking you questions. I’ve done my research, and they’ll come after me.”

But he wasn’t so sure now. He hadn’t told William about the e-mails, and this one upped the ante. But he couldn’t back down. No, not now.

“What exactly do you think is going on?” William had asked him.

Tyler had thought for a minute before he answered. “At the risk of oversimplification…”

William stopped Tyler with a chuckle. “Try the full version on me. I might actually understand.”

Tyler grinned. “Well, these smaller companies, such as the Olga Corporation, Westby Tabled, and Eastern Indian Market—of
which there were a dozen or more, were used to supposedly funnel aid monies to people in need after the storm damage. So far I’ve only checked the Amish people. The companies listed the right names and addresses, but the monies or supplies never arrived. To cover their tracks, they had companies like Wymore Building & Supply and Howard Lumber supply the same people with the materials needed, so the work got done.”

“Sort of like double billing,” William muttered.

“That would be it,” Tyler agreed. “The sums in each transaction are small when compared to the millions handled overall—amounts from ten to forty or fifty thousand dollars—but together they make a half a million dollars or so. And that could be the tip of the iceberg. What if this was done in other places, say the Chickasaw Reservation, which was also hard-hit? And then where did the money go? Because the smaller companies did dispense funds. Someone received thousands of hidden dollars. What if there is political corruption involved? There was a senatorial race on that year between Billet and Yentas. A battle close fought, and that money could have made a huge difference. And Yentas received a boost from some late fund-raising, if I remember right.”

William laughed. “You have a wild imagination, Tyler. Thank the Lord we live a quiet and peaceful life away from all such things.”

“You might have been more involved than you knew,” Tyler said.

“Don’t take us there,” William warned. “Perhaps you should think yourself of a quiet and peaceful life—perhaps a life among us, Tyler.”

Tyler joined William’s laughter this time. “Now
you
have a big imagination.”

William sobered. “The bishop thinks highly of you. Perhaps you should consider our way of life. The Lord might have His hand in this whole thing.”

“I doubt if even the Lord could provide that sort of miracle,” Tyler teased, but William had remained sober.

Well, that was that. He had no plans to back off his pursuit. Not even with threats like this. No good reporter retreated in the face of intimidation. Tyler tapped the “forward” e-mail icon and wrote, “Maybe this will persuade you that things are hot around here. We might be onto something big. Remember the Billet/Yentas contest that year? Dig deep. Will continue here as I can.”

Tyler pressed “send.” Now what? The logical next step was another meeting with Mr. Westree, the chairman of the Clarita Relief Fund.

Tyler tapped out a text message. “Need to meet again. New information found. Name the time and place.”

Tyler sent the text seconds later and waited a few minutes. If Mr. Westree responded at once, that would give some indication of how concerned the man was. And that was exactly why Mr. Westree wouldn’t respond tonight, and perhaps never.

Tyler gathered up his tablet and phone to slip out the back basement door to his car parked behind the barn. Deacon Phillips hadn’t designated that spot, but Tyler’s instincts told him the Amish would appreciate the consideration. Cars parked overnight in front of their barns didn’t give the best appearance. Not for people who drove buggies, and especially not for deacons.

Tyler turned the car around, and as he drove by the farmhouse, he waved to one of Deacon Phillips’s younger daughters, who was peeking out of the kitchen window. The oldest girl, Ruth, was at the youth gathering. She had offered him a ride earlier in her buggy, but he had declined. Ruth had a crush on him but hid it well at home. They both knew it would go nowhere. This was a young girl thing. Ruth would grow out of it in a few weeks… unlike Miriam. Miriam was another matter entirely.

Tyler turned left on Highway 48 and minutes later pulled into
the Bylers’ driveway. He hadn’t planned to come here. A text from Mr. Westree would have sent him in another direction, but with no immediate response, he was being drawn to Miriam again. What he’d say if he saw her tonight, Tyler had no idea. Perhaps he could find some pretense to be alone with her.

Tyler parked beside the greenhouse and approached the Bylers’s front door. Fannie opened it before he arrived and greeted him. “Howdy, stranger. You’re a little late for supper.”

Tyler forced a laugh. “I guess I do hang around here a lot. Is your husband home?”

“
Yah
, he’s relaxing in the living room.” Fannie held open the front door. “Come in and make yourself at home.”

Tyler stepped inside and greeted William. “Sorry to bother you when you’re not working.”

William grinned. “I’m thinking you have mischief up your sleeve with that look on your face.”

Tyler chuckled. “Maybe I do.”

“So what can I do for you?” William asked.

Inspiration struck Tyler. “Is Miriam at the youth gathering? I’ve been working and haven’t driven over there yet. I thought I might give her a ride if she hasn’t left.”

“Miriam is upstairs working on her school work,” Fannie offered.

“She’s still not caught up from her trip?” William didn’t appear pleased. “The girl works too hard.”

Fannie shrugged. “You know how dedicated Miriam is.”

“She probably needs a break,” Tyler offered. “Shall we ask her?”

Fannie’s face lit up. “That’s kind of you. Miriam does need to get her nose out of her work. She’ll have plenty to do as the bishop’s
frau
once they marry, but Miriam ought to enjoy her youth while she still has time.”

“I agree!” William said. “Why don’t you go insist she take a break?”

Tyler held his breath as Fannie hurried up the stairs. He half expected an outraged yell to tumble Fannie back down again, but the Amish didn’t seem to have inappropriate outbursts.

Tyler stood to his feet as Fannie appeared with Miriam behind her, looking not at him but at the floor. Without saying a word, she headed straight for the front door.

“What’s up with her?” Fannie whispered.

“Maybe a bad letter from the bishop?” William laughed.

“Well, see you all later,” Tyler said as he hurried after Miriam, catching up with her on the front lawn.

She turned on him with anger written on her face. “Of all the sneaky, low-down tricks in the book. How dare you? Do you know the danger this puts me in?”

Tyler grinned. “I’m just driving you to the youth gathering, and I’ll bring you right home again. What danger is there in that?”

Miriam sputtered something Tyler couldn’t understand and climbed into the car. Guilt niggled at him, but Tyler pushed the emotion aside. He cared for this woman, but he would make no untoward advance on her tonight. He promised himself that.

Chapter Twenty-Six

M
ose opened the mailbox as the cool evening breeze moved through his thick hair. His ruffled beard fell flat again when Mose turned his face into the wind. He took a moment to catch his breath before he examined the letters in his hand. Most of them were bills, and he ignored them. The Oklahoma return address caught his eye at once. The address was handwritten in a female style.

Miriam has written
, Mose told himself, a grin spreading across his face.
If I had known this, I would have fetched the mail at lunchtime
. Then taking a second look at the envelope, Mose’s face clouded. He looked closely at the handwriting again. Was he mistaken in thinking it didn’t look like Miriam’s handwriting? But he had seen it only seldomly, so likely it was indeed from Miriam.

Mose turned back to the house. Once inside, he looked around with a shiver. The house looked lonely and unkempt. The place needed a
frau
’s touch. His supper sat on the kitchen
table, warmed-over meat loaf he had brought home from his family’s Thanksgiving gathering. He would eat the last of it tonight. Tomorrow he would have to make his own meals once more.

Mose glanced again at the female handwriting. “This has to be from Miriam,” he said out loud. “Who else would write me from Oklahoma?”

The memories of Miriam’s stay a week ago flooded his mind. He saw Miriam’s gentle smile, her quick acquiescence to his every demand, and her soft touch on his arm, which he never fully accepted. He should have kissed the girl, Mose told himself. But his duty to the community and his high standards came first.