Where Shadows Meet by Colleen Coble (20)

Hannah’s gaze kept returning to the center of the sitting room where she’d found the bodies of her family. No trace of the symbol marred the walls. The three hours she’d been here had dragged by, hung up on tragic memories haunting every corner and peering from every shadow.

Tableware clanged against plates in the kitchen. Hannah could hear one of her cousins talking to Sarah in German. The guttural tones took her back to her own childhood. Seated on the sofa with a tray, she picked at the food on her plate.

Angie tipped her head and listened. “How well do you still remember your German?” She’d insisted on joining Hannah for dinner.

“I’m a little rusty. I found that out when I tried to talk to the children the last time we were here. Ours is a Swiss-German dialect that’s a little different from what the Englisch call Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Is Parke County the sect’s only home?”

“No, but the majority of the Swiss Amish came to Indiana. Our group came later than those in Pennsylvania. We made our way to the state around 1840 directly from Switzerland. Most Amish people here in Parke County are from Pennsylvania and speak Pennsylvania Deutsch. Most of us here in Indiana who speak the Swiss dialect are up around Berne, but our district was a plant from there.”

“Are the languages close enough to understand each other?”

“It’s a little challenging.” Hannah smiled. “If I were to talk with a Pennsylvania Deutsch Amish woman, it would be easier to speak English. We don’t socialize much with the other group either.”

Angie studied her face. “You keep saying we.”

Hannah’s laugh felt strained. “I suppose I do. I hadn’t noticed. I’ll always be Amish at heart.”

“How do you mean?”

“Our simple love of family, our neighbors. It’s ingrained in me, and I’ll always carry it with me. I might carry a cell phone and cut my hair, but inside I’m Amish.”

Angie nodded. “I can see that. It’s one reason people are drawn to you.”

Drawn to her? Hannah had never noticed. She scooped up a spoonful of her cold fruit soup—mashed strawberries, milk, and sugar over bread. She hadn’t had anything like it since she left the county, and she nearly smacked her lips over the fresh taste. Sarah was a good cook. The chicken potpie had pastry flaky enough to melt in her mouth, and the homemade root beer rivaled Mamm’s.

“I had no idea there was so much diversity among the Amish. You should mention that in the book.”

“Each district can be different too,” Hannah said. “But most people don’t realize there are such distinctions.” The noises intensified in the kitchen, and she knew they were finished with supper. She put her spoon down. “I think I’m done too.”

“We should help with dishes.”

“They won’t let me. But I can sit at the table while you help.” Hannah rose and went to the kitchen with her utensils. Ajax followed at her feet.

Sarah glanced up quickly, then ducked her head so all Hannah could see was the top of her kapp. The tiny pleats in the prayer bonnet had required hours of ironing. Hannah put her dishes onto the stack by the sink, then retreated to sit at the table. She folded her hands in her lap.

“Can I help you with the dishes?” Angie asked.

“No, thank you. The children will help.”

Angie raised her brows and glanced back at Hannah, then joined her at the table. Sarah moved a small step stool close to the sink, and Sharon crawled up to wait for her mother. Sarah took the kettle from the woodstove and poured hot water into the sink. Naomi took a dish towel from the drawer and stood on tiptoes to grab the wet dishes as they were ready to be dried.

“Amazing,” Angie muttered, her gaze on the children. “Most kids do everything they can to get out of chores.”

The girls’ willingness seemed so normal, so right, to Hannah. “We are taught from a young age that work is blessed. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop. We enjoy spending time with one another too. The girls want to be like their mamm, and the boys like their datt. They’re eager to begin to learn the chores and to help out. My mother began to teach me to quilt when I was three.”

“Do your children ever fight?” Angie asked Sarah.

Sarah smiled and shook her head. “It is not allowed.”

“Where’s Luca?” Hannah asked.

Sarah’s smile faded. “Feeding the horses and chickens.”

So far, Hannah had detected no trace of the camaraderie she and Sarah had shared as teenagers. Hannah mourned its loss. “When did you and Luca marry?” She kept her tone light and friendly.

“About a year after you left. Nine years ago.”

“Your oldest is only six?” It was unusual for so much time to pass before a child arrived.

“I had a few . . . accidents.” Sarah seemed to force the words out.

“I’m sorry.”

“The Lord’s will be done.”

“Of course. And your family is beautiful.”

Sarah’s eyes finally softened. “Thank you.”

“How are your parents, your brothers and sisters?”

“They are well. Mamm is dealing with a bit of arthritis, but she has good spirits about it.” The smile that flickered across her lips disappeared. “You might spoil everything, Hannah. Don’t you care?”

The words pierced Hannah to the bone. “I’ve always cared,” she said softly. “I can’t tell you how many times I picked up the phone to call Luca at work. I didn’t want to make things worse for him.”

“Yet you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Heat crept up Hannah’s neck. It hurt to be so unwanted. It used to be different. She fought to keep her voice from trembling. “I need to find the child.”

Sarah turned from the sink and came to where Hannah sat. “Do you really think the child is yours? And what if she is, Hannah? Would you rip her from a family who loves her?”

“I don’t know.” In spite of her resolve, her voice shook. “You know how important family is to me.”

“Not anymore. You turned your back on your family. For lust.”

“That’s harsh,” Angie put in. “You don’t know what Hannah’s been through.”

“God chastises his children.”

“At least you admit I’m his child,” Hannah said in a low voice.

“I admit nothing.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Angie asked.

“I’m not afraid.” Sarah pressed her lips together.

But Angie was right. Hannah recognized the fear now in the way Sarah’s hands trembled. “Are you hiding something, Sarah?”

“Of course not!” The strings on Sarah’s cap fluttered as she shook her head.

“Do you know where the little girl is being kept?”

Sarah grabbed up a basket from the counter. “I’m going to gather eggs.”

The door shut behind her, and Hannah stared after her through the window. She hadn’t answered the question. Hannah followed her.

The night air cooled her hot cheeks. She found Luca and Sarah huddled together near the barn. They stopped speaking when she approached. Was the fear she saw in Sarah’s eyes fear of the future? “Look, let’s clear the air. I’m not going to throw you out. I don’t even want anything from the property.”

Luca crossed his arms over his chest. “Half of it rightly belongs to you. I have been setting aside half of the profits every year you’ve been gone.”

“I don’t want it.” Blood money, that’s all it was.

“No. You will take it. It’s not as much as the greenhouse is worth, but it will be a steady income if you will allow me to continue to manage the business.”

She recognized the inflexible tone of his voice but he couldn’t stop her from doing what she wanted with it. Maybe she’d set it aside for his girls. “How about we compromise? I’ll take what you’ve got set aside as a final payment. No more after that. That’s my final offer.” He wouldn’t get the reference to a TV show, but she had to say it and smile anyway.

“I cannot do that. The house and property are worth even more.”

Hannah glanced back to the house. “Let’s break out the accordion, Luca. I haven’t yodeled since I left. We’ll sing all the old songs and pretend we’re kids again.”

“I haven’t played since you left, Hannah. I’m a deacon now. I got rid of the accordion.”

“Is my guitar still in the barn? We can have the kids watch for buggies just like we used to do.” She started past him toward the barn, but he grabbed her arm.

“I didn’t want to be a deacon, but the vote came to me. Don’t make it harder, Hannah.”

She stared at him. “Do you still yodel?”

“Ja. The girls, they are learning too.”

“Could we do that tonight?”

Luca glanced from Hannah to Sarah. “Ja, maybe it would be okay.”

Sarah had no expression, and Hannah wondered if he hoped the yodel fest would ease the tension. Did Sarah value her position as a deacon’s wife so much that she never liked having fun anymore? The girl she was ten years ago had vanished when the black apron replaced the white one.

MATT RUBBED HIS eyes, bleary from staring at the screen. Blake sat sprawled in a chair on the other side of the desk. His eyes were closed, and a snore rumbled through his mouth. The clock on the wall read only eight thirty, but they hadn’t slept since Reece surprised Hannah last night, questioning neighbors, tracing leads. All to find nothing.

Blake had come straight from Shipshewana, and Matt decided to let him sleep awhile before waking him to demand to hear what he’d found out.

He wished he could sleep in his own bed tonight rather than on the sofa at the Schwartzes’, but duty called. He hadn’t checked his e-mail all day, so he clicked over to it. The in-box contained mostly work-related requests for information or case follow-ups that he’d been copied on. No new burglaries.

He glanced at Blake. He’d been out of town. Coincidence?

An e-mail marked Urgent caught his attention as he was about to click out of the program. The subject line read “Hello Son.” The air seemed close and hot, and if he’d had the energy, he would have opened the window or turned up the air. He thought he’d clicked on the message, but then he realized he was still sitting there staring at the screen.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was having a heart attack. A weight lay on his chest, and his arms were numb.

His hand holding the mouse moved slowly, and the cursor paused over the e-mail. For just one second, he wanted to linger and not know. In this case, ignorance might be bliss. He could hang on to the hope just a little longer. He swallowed hard and double-clicked the e-mail. The message sprang onto the screen, and he leaned forward to read it.

Hello, Matt. I heard you’ve been looking for me. If this is true, please reply to this e-mail. Love, Mom

Could it really be her? How did she find his work e-mail? Wait, he hadn’t left town—she had. It would be no problem to get his e-mail. It was listed on the department’s Web site. His hands shook as he placed them on the keyboard. He typed a quick reply asking her to meet him. He tried not to sound too desperate. Desperation might drive her away. And did his words sound accusing or judgmental? He reread the note.

Mom, good to hear from you. Can we meet? How about at the coffee shop tomorrow morning at 9:00? Just let me know. Love, your son Matt

Joy exploded in his chest. Whenever he thought of his mom, he was eight years old again, running home to see her. He reminded himself she wouldn’t be the same woman he’d last seen. She would be in her fifties, probably with gray hair and wrinkles. Was she remarried? What if she had kids with another man? The thought that she might have loved another child more than him and Gina compressed his chest again.

He warned himself not to get his hopes up. After all this time, if she really was trying to find him, her motive might be to ask for money or something. It wasn’t likely she had missed him as much as he’d missed her.

Blake yawned and sat up. His hair stood on end. “Man, I’m beat.”

Matt clicked out of his e-mail. “What did you find out?”

“Found the bishop. He claims Reece started coming there a month ago.”

“So it’s fairly recent. Probably a ploy to get Hannah back.”

“That’d be my guess. The bishop said Reece had been faithful to the teachings.”

“Except for driving a vehicle.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that. But the bishop didn’t know about it. He said Reece told him he’d hired a driver for a trip and would come in a few weeks with his wife and child.”

The muscles in Matt’s belly tensed. Over his dead body. No one was taking Caitlin away from him. “Thanks. You’d better get home to Gina.”

Blake glanced at his watch. “Yikes, I told her I’d be home for supper. If I’m late, she’ll be suspicious all over again.” He bolted from his chair and ran for the door.

Matt followed him outside. He needed to get out to the Schwartz house before they all went to bed. As he drove north out of town, his thoughts kept drifting to his mother’s e-mail. Could it be real? He was afraid to hope.

Dim yellow light shone through the windows of the house when he pulled into the driveway. He got out of the SUV and started toward the front door. A warble of some kind came to his ears. Was that yodeling? He stopped and listened. The German song rolled out across the yard, and though it was supposed to be joyous, he heard the undercurrent of a lost time that would never come again, no matter how hard they tried to find it.

THE CHILDREN’S VOICES murmuring their prayers slipped under the closed door. The sunset still glowed in the west, though it was nine o’clock. Indiana had only recently started to follow daylight saving time, and Hannah wondered if her people had adopted the Englisch way of changing their clocks.

“You sure you don’t mind sharing a bedroom?” she asked Angie.

“We can talk about some publicity.” Angie sat cross-legged on the single bed. “How’s the quilt coming?”

“You know I’ve struggled to work on it since we got here. There hasn’t been much time. I really want this one for the cover. The triangle is the underpinning of the Amish faith.”

“Hannah, the photographer will want pictures of it in a month and a half. You’re not even close to finished.”

“I know. I’ll work on it a little while now.” Hannah pulled the large plastic container out from under the bed where she’d placed it earlier. “This room used to be mine.” She lifted the lid and rummaged for the last square she’d been working on.

“Homey. What chapter are you on with the book?”

“The one about Chevron quilts.”

“What’s significant about them?”

Hannah thought a moment as her needle wove in and out of the colorful fabric. “A chevron is a badge or insignia. The Amish believe very much in following secular authority, in leading a law-abiding life. It’s very rare to find any lawbreakers among the Amish, and murder is practically unheard of. But the one thing they refuse to do is to serve in the military. In fact, that’s why the men don’t wear a mustache, only a beard. In earlier centuries only military men wore mustaches, and they associate mustaches with killing. They prize peace and want nothing to do with war.”

“So they are conscientious objectors?”

Hannah nodded. “My mother was the perfect example of a soft answer turning away wrath.” Though in Hannah’s case, those teachings were what had kept her under Reece’s fist too long. She focused on making her stitches even and small. She wouldn’t think about the sound of her mother’s laugh, or the way her mother’s auburn hair caught the sunlight. She wouldn’t remember the way Mamm’s tender hands, rough from hard work, would stroke Hannah’s hair at night before bed. The needle blurred in her vision, and she blinked hard.

“Did she only work by hand?”

“No, she had a treadle sewing machine that she used for the piecework. The actual quilting was done by hand. I’ll talk about that when I get to the chapter on the Carpenter Patch. We prize things made with hard work, but we use tried-and-true technology. Many use a treadle sewing machine for the piecework.”

Angie frowned. “I’ve always heard quilts made by hand are more valuable.”

“When sewing machines first became available, it was a status symbol to have one to use for quilting. Around 1900, during the Colonial Revival period, interest in hand quilting grew, a return to nostalgia. But Amish women are practical. Good quilts are about design and excellent fabrics. Mamm always chose her fabrics with care and paid top dollar for them.”

Angie glanced around the bedroom. “Does your cousin have any I can see?”

“They were all stolen the—the night of the murders.” She stopped. “You know, the quilt that was found over the bodies should still be somewhere. It would have been released to the family once the evidence was collected from it. I’m going to look for it.”

Angie sprang off the bed. “I’ll come with you.”

She followed Hannah down the hall. “This is a big place.”

“Four bedrooms up here and another one downstairs. This is another guest room.” The large room held a double bed, a dresser, a futon that could be made into another bed, and a crib. Even with all the furniture, it still had floor space to spare.

“Why is there so much furniture in here?”

“An entire family could stay here. We often have visitors who stay a few days.” Hannah glanced around the room. She hadn’t had time to go from room to room and see what changes Sarah had made. The quilt Hannah sought wasn’t on the bed. She opened the closet and pulled out a blanket chest.

Seeing the cedar chest made by her father, she remembered that her mother’s keepsake box had always resided inside. She lifted the lid and inhaled the aroma of fragrant cedar. The chest held quilts and an assortment of baby clothes. She began to lift out the quilts one by one. They’d all been made by Sarah. She recognized her friend’s favorite Log Cabin pattern.

“What are you doing?” Sarah stood in the doorway. Her brows were raised, and spots of red blotched her cheeks. Hannah refused to let Sarah intimidate her. “I’m looking for the quilt that was over my family when I found them. I wanted to look at it again. I’d never seen it before that night, and it was clearly made by my mother.” All of this belonged more to her than it did to anyone else. Even Luca didn’t have as much right to the personal effects as she did.

Sarah bit her lip. “It’s in Naomi’s room. It’s a child’s quilt. I thought she would enjoy it.”

“You gave your child a quilt that had been on her dead relatives?” Angie’s voice resounded with horror.

“It was laundered, of course.”

A practical response, but Hannah shuddered. They were taught to put others first and avoid conflict, but Hannah could tell Sarah didn’t like her snooping by the way she kept biting her lip and clutching her hands together.

“Which room is Naomi’s?” Hannah moved toward the door.

Sarah stepped out of the way. “Just across the hall. Please don’t wake her.”

Hannah reached the other door in five steps and peered inside. She caught her breath at the sight of the quilt on a rack at the end of the bed. The hall light shone on it. Her memory hadn’t done it justice. It almost seemed as though the red hummingbirds in the pattern stitching hovered over the black background. It seemed three-dimensional.

Seeing the quilt was like catching a glimpse of her mother. She found herself on her knees by the quilt rack. Pulling the quilt to her face, she inhaled, but there was nothing left of her mother’s essence, only the scent of fresh air from hanging on the line. When she got up, she realized her cheeks were wet.

So were Sarah’s. The two women appraised each other. In Sarah’s eyes, Hannah saw her own helpless yearning for a time that would never come again. A regret for years lost and never regained. A knowledge that there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Sarah averted her eyes and went to the rack. She lifted the quilt, folded it with steady precision, and placed it in Hannah’s hands. “This should be yours.”

Hannah’s upbringing caused her to open her mouth to give it back, but she realized Sarah was right. It did belong with her. She was the only child left of Patricia and Abe Schwartz. Even Luca’s children weren’t their grandchildren.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She resisted the urge to bury her face in the quilt again. “What about Mamm’s keepsake box?”

Fear returned to Sarah’s eyes. “What does it look like?”

“A box about so big.” She measured a space with her hands about a foot wide. “It’s inlaid wood with a hummingbird design. Her grandfather made it. Have you seen it? It was always in the blanket chest.”

“Where did you see it last?”

Hannah could see that the ping-pong of questions was designed to avoid a direct reply to the pointed query. “You have to have seen it, Sarah. I know it was here.”

Sarah dropped her gaze. “Yes,” she answered. “It’s in our bedroom.” She turned and left the room.

Hannah exchanged a quick glance with Angie, then followed Sarah. She dropped the quilt off in her bedroom, laying it reverently on the bed, then went downstairs, where she found Sarah in the master bedroom rooting through a shelf in the back of the closet. This was the first time since returning to Parke County that Hannah had been in her parents’ bedroom. The same bed with a plain headboard was shoved against the far wall.

“Here it is.” Sarah emerged from the closet with her kapp askew. She held the box out toward Hannah.

Hannah reached for it, her fingers grazing Sarah’s. The contact made her glance in her friend’s face. Sarah looked ashen. Hannah didn’t understand what could be so upsetting about the box. “Thanks,” she said.

“I must get ready for bed.” Sarah bolted for the door.

Hannah carried the keepsake box back upstairs to her room. She couldn’t think here with the reminders of her parents all around. Angie was already working on her lists again. She barely looked up when Hannah sat on the bed and raised the lid to the box. A faint melody tinkled out.

Angie tipped her head to one side and listened. “What’s that song?”

“‘Land der Berge, Land am Strome.’ It means ‘land of the mountains, land on the river.’ It’s the Swiss national anthem.”

“It’s beautiful. So is the box.”

Hannah stroked the patina of the lid. “It’s from Switzerland. My grandfather made it for her when she was a child.”

The contents were from another life. Hannah had always loved going through it and having her mother explain everything. There were theater tickets to Hair and tickets to a Beatles concert.

Angie picked up the Beatles tickets and stared at them, then glanced at Hannah. “What gives?”

“She was a hippie until she met my father.”

“Wow, talk about culture shock. Free love and all that, and then going into the Amish culture.”

“I think she relished it. And she’d lived on a commune for three years with no electricity or running water. The structure helped give her meaning, she said.”

“Did everyone realize where she’d come from?”

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t think so. She was so eager to fit in, to please Datt.”

“Didn’t she ever miss her old life?”

“If she did, she never said so.” Hannah sifted through the contents. Letters that she’d never been allowed to read, a tennis bracelet, a Seiko watch, several earrings, and a class ring. She frowned. “I don’t see her ring in here.”

“What ring?”

“Her mother’s engagement ring. She told me it was worth a fortune. She had it tucked away here and never got to wear it. She slipped it on sometimes when we were alone, just to connect with her mother, I think. But she never let me wear it. She didn’t want me to yearn for things that had no lasting value.”

Hannah lifted everything out of the box and went through each item, carefully shaking out the letters. The ring was gone.

“When did you see it last?”

“About two weeks before she died. It’s got to be here.”

Could Sarah have taken it? But why? She would have no use for it. She’d never be able to wear it. And Luca wouldn’t allow her to sell it. Could one of the girls have gotten in here and taken it out to play with it? It seemed unlikely. Amish children were taught respect from a very early age.

“I’ll have to ask Sarah about it.” Her gut clenched at the thought. Sarah might think she was accusing her of theft.

She put all of the items back in the box, though she lingered over the letters. She’d wanted to read them for as long as she could remember. “When you’re older,” her mother had always said. The youth quilt caught her attention. She unfolded it and spread it out on the bed.

“That’s gorgeous,” Angie said, getting up to take a closer look. “It looks like the birds are about to fly off the fabric. It’s a solid black with just stitching as the only other color. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“All Mamm’s quilts are unique. It’s the way she uses color. And look at her tiny stitches. I’ve never been able to match their perfection.”

Angie leaned over to examine the quilt. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did she learn?”

“My dad’s mother. Großmutter took her under her wing, and Mamm was so patient to learn it all. She used to paint before she married Datt. Afterward, she poured all her artistic ability into her quilts.”

“I wish we had more of her quilts to feature in your book.”

“Me too.”

Angie went back to her chair. “Is there another one around here? Maybe some of her customers still have them?”

“Oh, of course! We could get some of those. I wasn’t thinking. I’d rather feature my mother’s quilts if I can find them. She had a magnificent Mariner’s Compass one. I think she sold it to the woman who owns the fabric store. We’ll check there tomorrow.”

Hannah couldn’t wait to hold it. Maybe the woman would sell it to her.