Where Shadows Meet by Colleen Coble (25)

Matt sponged himself off with warm water heated on the woodstove. He towel-dried his hair with a vengeance, then jerked on jeans and sneakers to dash to the outhouse and back. The sun was peeking through the window as he went back to the sitting room and folded his sheets. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night with the ferocious thunderstorm that had crashed overhead until early this morning.

He should have known better than to let himself care. All he had to do was keep his distance and wait for Hannah to leave, but no, he’d had to go make a fool of himself. He was weak, and even worse, he was a fool. She had the power to rip his world apart. He needed to keep her at arm’s length. For all his preaching to Blake about the sanctity of marriage, he’d ignored the fact that she was legally bound. Where did the boundaries lie with God? Surely God didn’t want her to go back to an abusive man, one who might even be a murderer.

Being with her was like peeking into a different world—a place where he might actually find love again. But it couldn’t happen, not now. He’d never give up his daughter, and Hannah would never forgive his lies.

The rest of the household stirred overhead. Floorboards creaked and a door scraped open. The steps groaned under someone’s weight, then Hannah stepped into view. Dressed in a denim skirt and yellow blouse, she looked as bright as a daffodil.

“Sounds like your family is up,” he said.

“I’d love to make pancakes for them this morning before we go to Aunt Nora’s funeral, but they won’t accept any favors from me.” She wasn’t looking at him.

He knew he should shove his feet into his shoes and get the heck out of Dodge, but instead he stepped closer to her. “Hey, I’m a mean wielder of the spatula. How about you mix it up before they get down and I’ll do the cooking. They won’t say a word.”

Her smile turned hopeful. “You cook?”

“You question my culinary ability?”

“Of course not. I know you can do anything.” She smiled, and a steady faith burned in her eyes.

She made him believe he was Superman. How did she do that? He followed her to the kitchen and made coffee while she put on an apron and assembled her ingredients.

“I wish they’d let me make them a shoofly pie.”

“Hey, you can make me one.” He grinned and pulled up a chair. Hannah began to mix the ingredients in a large yellow glass bowl. His grandmother had an old bowl like that. “I like your family. I used to think the Amish were just a strange sect, almost a cult or something. But they’re good, honest Christians. The peace here in their home is almost enough to make me give up my SUV.”

She smiled and cracked an egg into the batter. “It’s good to be back.” She wiped her hands on her apron, then untied it. “Your turn.” She had him stand up and swathed him in the dark blue apron.

“Do I have to wear this?”

“You look more official.”

She was standing close enough when he turned around that he would only have to bend over slightly to kiss her. Her golden eyes captivated him. The expression in them was as soft as the color. He was too weak to resist even though he knew the pain was coming. He cupped her face in his palm. “What are we going to do about us?”

“Is there an us, Matt?”

“I love to hear you say my name. Say it again.”

“Matt,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t.” He wanted to kiss her, but he heard the steps creaking. With reluctance, he turned to the stove and began beating the batter. Stupid, stupid. There was no way to fix this. For a second he allowed himself to dream of what life might be like if the truth were out in the open and she forgave him anyway. It couldn’t be, though. No mother would forgive what he had done. And there was still her tie to Reece to contend with.

She put her hand over his as he whipped the batter. “Not too much,” she whispered. “It won’t rise.” She retreated to a chair at the table. “Good morning,” she told her cousin.

Luca nodded. “Gut morning.” He sniffed as the batter touched the hot oil in the skillet. “Pancakes?”

“Yep,” Matt said. He kept a close eye on the edges of the batter.

Luca went to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “I am hungry. The family will be down soon. It is kind of you to feed us all on such a busy morning.”

“Your cupboard provided the ingredients. I’m just doing the cooking.”

“Gut coffee. You made it?”

“Sure did.” He wondered what Luca would do if he said that Hannah had made it. Or if he said that she’d mixed up the batter for him. Would he refuse to eat the pancakes? Spit out the coffee? He cooked three pancakes and flipped them onto a plate for Luca.

Feet pounded down the steps, and Sarah burst into the kitchen. She jabbered something in German that made both Luca and Hannah leap for the door. “What’s wrong?” Matt asked, running after them. But when he reached the door, he needed no translation. “The barn’s on fire!” He grabbed his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

By the time he jammed his phone back onto his belt, Luca was dragging a hose toward the barn. Flames were beginning to shoot through the roof.

“The horses!” Splashing through puddles left by last night’s rain, Hannah ran toward the barn.

Matt sprang after her. “Hannah, no!” But she paid him no attention. Shoving open the door, she disappeared into the black smoke billowing from the opening. The air from the open door fueled the fire, and the flames shot higher through the roof as if straining to torch a few lazy clouds passing by.

Luca sprayed the water onto the barn, but the flames just danced higher. Matt reached the billowing smoke, and the harsh heat struck his lungs. He coughed and plunged into the darkness of the superheated barn. “Hannah!” he shouted, still coughing. It was like an image of hell. Flames and smoke billowed around him, the fire eating up the dry tinder of the old barn. Horses screamed, and he leaped in the direction of the sound.

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 Angie. 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?”

Angie 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 lift the phone 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?” Angie 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 Angie admitted the coffee soup was pretty good. Hannah finished her food and pulled out her last quilt square. Angie 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.”

For the rest of his life, Matt would remember how this moment felt: the way his blood seemed to freeze in his veins, then pulsed to his feet, leaving his vision swimming. Time slowed to a standstill. He could hear the oil sizzling, Luca clearing his throat, Hannah sipping her coffee. Every muscle in his throat spasmed, and he couldn’t force out a word.

With a supreme effort, Matt got his tongue to work. “Trudy, calm down.” Stand back. Think this through. It was up to him to rescue his daughter. What would he do if he got a call about a missing child? “When did you see her last?”

“She was coloring on the porch. About half an hour ago.”

“When did you notice she was missing?” He was aware of Luca and Hannah looking at him with wide eyes.

“I called her for breakfast. When she didn’t come, I yelled again, then went to the porch. I couldn’t find her anywhere. She’s not in the barn either.”

Matt forced himself not to react, to hold his composure. “I’ll be right there. I’ll call headquarters.”

He turned his back on the Schwartzes and called Captain Sturgis. He promised to send out a deputy to meet him at his grandmother’s. When Matt slipped his phone onto his belt, he turned to face Hannah and Luca. “My daughter is missing. I’ve got to go.”

Hannah put her hand to her mouth. “I’ll come with you.”

He needed all the help he could get. Caitlin needed to be found quickly. She was more important than his reputation with Hannah. “Thanks.”

“I will come also,” Luca said. “Will you drive us?”

“I’ll get Angie too. We’ll round up other friends to help search. Maybe she wandered off.”

Matt’s eyes burned unexpectedly. He’d heard about the way the Amish rallied around folks in need, even those who weren’t part of their church, but this was the first time he’d seen it firsthand. “Thanks,” he mumbled, unable to get out more than that.

Hannah sprang for the steps. “Angie, Sarah, come now. We need to help look for Matt’s five-year-old daughter.”

Hearing the words spoken out loud by someone else was almost as painful as hearing them the first time. A missing child. Every parent’s nightmare. He’d been on the other end a time or two—the deputy talking to parents in such a situation. He should have been more compassionate, more sympathetic. Now he knew what it was like to hear the world shatter in a moment.

Focus. He had to focus. “The others can follow in Angie’s car. I need to go now,” he told Luca. He called Ajax, and the dog came running.

“I’m ready.” The other man grabbed his black hat and slapped it over his Dutch boy haircut.

Luca followed Matt to the SUV. Hannah rushed to join them. “Angie will bring Sarah and any others with her.” She got in the front seat with him, and Luca got in the back with the dog.

The tires shrieked in protest when Matt tromped on the gas pedal. It echoed the scream building in his own head—a babbling plea begging God to spare his baby girl. Hannah tried to talk to him, to pray with him, but the words didn’t penetrate the pain blocking out all coherent thought. He knew he should confess everything, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work.

The clouds released a burst of heavy rain. Matt barreled through the downpour to his grandmother’s. As he pulled in the drive, he heard the sound of a siren screaming toward them. Never before had he experienced the way that familiar sound could seem so ominous, a harbinger of personal, devastating pain.

He slammed on the brakes and hurtled from the vehicle into the driving rain. The last time he’d seen her, Caitlin had come running to meet him. Taking the steps in one leap, he flung open the door and rushed into the house.

His grandmother was wrapping sandwiches in the kitchen. “You’ll need these,” she said, thrusting a bag of food into his hand.

As if he could even think about eating until his daughter was safe in his arms. He took the bag but put it on the counter. “Was she upset this morning?”

“Yes. She said she wanted to go home.” Trudy’s voice held censure. She stared at Hannah, then glanced at Matt. Her gaze lingered on Luca standing by the door with his hat in his hands. “What are you thinking to bring one of them here?”

Matt didn’t have time for her prejudices. Ajax pressed his nose against his leg and whined. Matt swallowed his turmoil. He had to focus.

Car doors slammed, and moments later a fist pounded on the door. “Sheriff’s department,” Blake called.

“Come on in,” Matt yelled.

Blake and another deputy joined them in the kitchen. “You okay, buddy?” Blake asked.

“Caitlin’s gone,” he told the deputies.

“Could she have run away?”

“Maybe.” He could only hope and pray that was what had happened and he’d find her dragging her backpack along the road. People around here were decent people. Maybe one would stop and help. The thought of his daughter in this storm was too much to bear.

Matt stepped onto the porch where the toys lay. Her backpack was here too. So much for hoping she’d run off to find him. Ajax went to the pack and whined. Matt wished he could do the same. The wind blew rain onto the porch, and droplets pummeled him.

Hannah followed him. “She didn’t take her backpack of toys. If she was running away, wouldn’t she take that?”

“That would be my guess.”

“How long has she been here?”

“My sister brought her this morning.” Gina was probably one of the calls he missed. He’d been too upset to listen to her message, but he’d better. What if someone took Caitlin and left a message? “I had some messages.” He pulled out his cell phone and called up his voice mail. Both were from Gina saying she was going to go talk to Vanessa. She asked him to go get Caitlin from Trudy’s.

He put his cell phone away and glanced at Hannah. Confession trembled on his tongue. But nothing would be gained by causing that uproar now. It would only take the focus off finding his daughter. He made himself go through her backpack. It contained only her doll, Jenny, and the doll’s clothing.

“If someone took her, wouldn’t they be likely to take her toys to keep her quiet?” Hannah asked.

Reece would. Matt realized he had to tell the truth for law enforcement to be able to help him. He had to tell them to put out an APB for Reece. And to do that, he had to tell them why.