Fall from Pride (21 page)

Nate said he'd see Peter on Saturday at the barn raising, paid his bill and, when he saw Mike Getz come in, chatted with him and just happened to mention he was leaving for a few days. Before Peter could pay and catch up, Nate walked
down the street and ducked back behind the buildings. He retrieved his backpack and, looking both ways, tried to get himself settled in the narrow, short space behind the driver's seat of Sarah's buggy.

Lying down with his knees bent, he used his hard backpack for a pillow. Besides some personal items, it was jammed full with his satellite phone, three two-way radios—Sarah had lost his fourth one in the ditch—and night goggles. Stan Comstock would supply anything else needed, and they'd use only dedicated channels to speak to each other. If something needed to be sent back and forth between the Kauffman and Hostetler farms, however much they prided themselves on being cutting-edge investigators, they would rely on Amish help with a horse and buggy.

As he tried again to get comfortable—where was that woman?—he shook the buggy. Sally merely snorted once, as if she expected strange things from him.

He figured it was about ten minutes later when Sarah came out. The buggy rocked under her weight as she settled in. “All set?” she whispered. “I've felt more worldly while you've been here, Nathan MacKenzie, and now, I guess, you're going to get a little taste of what it is to be Amish—at least wearing the clothes and walking in our shoes a bit.”

She blew a kiss to Sally, and they pulled away. The clip-clops and the sway of the buggy could have lulled him if he wasn't so upset that Peter had claimed to see Hannah at the first fire and suggested that Sarah was probably covering for her. Of course, Sarah had defended her friend tooth and nail. Man, he wished Hannah had a decent alibi for the two arsons. And she'd looked so shocked to hear about the Miller fire—as if it really annoyed her that someone else had dared
to set one. Hannah knew the area. Like Sarah, she could easily walk the fields to get to barns she'd known all her life.

He tried to calm himself. Peter had withheld that information, so what else was he holding back on? “We're going to be passing other buggies so I'm not talking to you.” Sarah interrupted his agonizing. “But it's okay if you talk to me.”

“Maybe I'm taking a nap or just enjoying the view,” he said. He reached out under the seat toward her ankle, but withdrew his hand before he touched her. He had to fight his need for her. The only thing he should be concentrating on, he told himself, was catching the arsonist before one more barn burned.

 

Sarah was moving
Grossmamm
and some of her things into the farmhouse when they crossed paths with Nate in the living room as he came down the stairs. That is, she met Amish Nate, dressed in her brother-in-law's trousers, white shirt and dark coat. Clean-shaven, he looked like an unwed Amish man except for his short hair, but the straw hat hid that. Gabe and
Daad
were with him. They nodded and both patted Sarah's and
Grossmamm
's shoulders and said their names, but they went to the kitchen, and she heard the screen door bang closed. For a moment, she stood in awe at Nate's transformation, but before she could figure out quite what to say, her grandmother asked him in German, “Are you Sarah's come-calling friend?”

At least, Sarah thought, stifling a laugh but turning bright red, the old woman wasn't afraid of him now. “This is Nate,
Grossmamm,
a friend of the whole family,” Sarah said in English.

Switching to English,
Grossmamm
retorted, “Well, even if
he's just one of the cousins from Pennsylvania come to help in the fields, he should be your come-calling friend. He's handsome. And,” she said to Nate, “our Sarah is a lovely, loyal young woman. I'd miss her if you took her away, but she would make a good wife.” Looking back at Sarah, she asked, “You never married that other one, did you?”

“Grossmamm,”
Sarah said, wishing she hadn't switched to English, “let's go upstairs.”

“At least up there, it will be harder for that man in black to look in my window,” the old woman said, not budging. “When I saw him outside, I pulled up the window and told him to get away. He terrified me, though, because I think he was one of them—the burners.”

Sarah got goose bumps. When she should have just passed over it and gotten her grandmother settled to avoid upsetting her, she asked, “What did he say? What did he look like?”

“He said nothing. He knew I'd caught him. Or maybe it was a woman. I can only say the person looked like a demon with huge eyes that stuck out like a grasshopper's. I wasn't dreaming. I was right on my knees, looking out. I've always told the truth. I'd tell the truth even if they tortured or burned me like is happening now. And I didn't want him to come in and burn your
verboten
drawings, so I put bloody fire on them before he could….”

Sarah gasped, shocked at the demented twists in her
grossmamm
's mind. But at least the arsonist hadn't targeted her sketchbook.

“Sorry, Nate,” Sarah said, and put her sacks down to take
Grossmamm
's elbow to lead her toward the stairs. “I shouldn't have asked her.”

Nate picked up the sacks and followed them up the stairs. At the bedroom door where the old woman had slept for
many years—
Mamm
and
Daad
were putting her in there since it faced the front and not the barn—Sarah thought she would balk. But entering her old room seemed to calm her. She went right in, then broke Sarah's heart when she said, “Your
grossdaad
will be back from the fields soon. You two just enjoy yourselves, and I'll be fine, just waiting for him here.”

Sarah caught Nate's gaze. There were tears in his eyes, too.

“YOU READY TO PULL AN ALL-NIGHTER?” SHERIFF Freeman asked over the satellite phone Nate had provided for him.

“Hope I can stay awake after the supper they fed me here. Between the Amish and Ray-Lynn's restaurant, Jack, I'm tanking weight on.”

“Yeah, it's all good home cooking from scratch,” Jack said with a sigh. “I should appreciate it more than I have.”

From the darkened room, Nate glanced out the upstairs bedroom window toward the Kauffman barn. Sarah had a good start on her quilt square. He hoped, if that “beast” of an arsonist was targeting this barn next, he or she wouldn't wait until the painting was completely done. If the arsonist wanted to burn a completed one, then Stan and the Hostetlers would have to be the ones to react.

Though it was barely dusk, Nate had stationed himself at the back window of the big bedroom he had learned Lizzie, Sarah and Martha had shared when they were younger. Now that Lizzie lived nearby, it belonged to the two younger
Kauffman daughters, though they usually alternated nights with their
grossmamm
in the
grossdaadi haus.
It felt strange to be setting up a stakeout in Sarah's bedroom, and, if he took a break for a catnap, that it could be in her bed.

“Ray-Lynn's really mad at me for mentioning her visit to the Esh barn to you,” he told Jack.

“At you? Wouldn't be real surprised if she starts seasoning my food with arsenic.”

Nate arranged his gear on the floor around his chair while they talked. He had borrowed Ben Kauffman's binoculars and would soon don his own night goggles. Ben was stationed in the
grossdaadi haus
tonight, since it would be better for him than for Nate to be seen traversing the yard between there and the farmhouse if necessary. Gabe and Sarah would take short shifts here at this window to give him some breaks, and Martha was out with her father. Mrs. Kauffman was in the master bedroom with her mother-in-law.

“I just talked to Stan Comstock,” Jack went on, “so his satellite phone's working, too. First hint of trouble, you call me.”

“Copy that. But we need to be sure we have the arsonist here before the Jack Freeman cavalry comes charging in. We don't want to spook him.”

“He is like a spook, isn't he—or she? Like a specter that comes and goes at will, but we're gonna nail the bastard. Listen, I'll be moving around some tonight, not just sitting in this office, not going home right away, but I'll keep this phone with me. I'm gonna check out the ruins of the Miller barn, be sure no one's around there admiring his or her fine work.”

“Jack, one more thing—and I'm trusting you with this,
trusting you to understand why I did it and to keep it quiet, especially from Peter Clawson.”

“I don't like the sound of that. You did what?”

“Kept something secret, with the agreement of the Amish leadership. The Miller barn was an arson fire, but not by
the
arsonist.”

“Say again.”

“The Amish are going to handle this just the way you handled Jacob Yoder at first, in an understanding and humanitarian way.”

“What? Besides, that blew up in my face.”

“Noah Miller lit that fire hoping to get his dad a new barn and show us his old buddy Jacob wasn't the arsonist. He's confessed, and the Amish are going to deal with him.”

The curse out of Jack's mouth did the ex-marine proud. Nate realized he'd given up swearing since he'd been here. In Amish country, a
yes
or a
no
were emphatic answers that didn't need any kind of dramatic emphasis. He steeled himself for an argument or attack from the sheriff.

“So you got the idea from the way I handled Jacob at first?” Jack asked. He sounded touched, almost wistful. “I agonized over that, but it was worth a try to help a kid and the Amish. Living here for a while, when guys like us are used to hardened criminals, is a real revelation, isn't it?” The word
revelation
jolted Nate more than Jack's surprising reaction did. It was, no doubt, just chance that he said it that way, but could he be behind those threatening notes? He didn't sound or act as if he had some serious grudge against the Amish. Although they tolerated professional soldiers and government law enforcement, their mistrust of officers was well-known, so did he secretly resent that? Jack had freedom
of movement, access to information, probably knew who was away from their homes and barns….

No, there he went again, acting paranoid, Nate scolded himself. Pretty soon he'd be thinking Martha or Gabe was the arsonist.

 

“Are you managing to stay awake?” Sarah asked Nate as she came quietly into the room around midnight. “I'm going to take the first watch for you, then Gabe will be in about 3:00 a.m.”

“I'm drinking a lot of coffee, but that means trips to the bathroom, so I'm glad you're here. You remember how to put these night goggles on?”

“I remember how strange everything looks through them, like swimming underwater.”

“They're invaluable here,” he said as he got out of his chair and she sat in it. He helped her adjust the goggles. “In the first place,” he told her, “to us worldly moderns, it's strange to see an area so dark at night. No interior glowing electrical or digital gadgets, no exterior house lights, streetlights, city lights.”

“Moonlight isn't much tonight, but at least we have the stars outside.”

“I haven't been star-gazing in years. Be right back.”

He hurried to use the toilet and wash his hands. A shower would feel really good right now, but then it might make him sleepier, too. He was usually good with just several hours of sleep, but, despite chasing an arsonist here, it seemed as if his interior clock had slowed down in Amish country. Besides, he hadn't done an all-night sting operation in a long time. He wiped his hands and face with one of the fluffy towels Mrs. Kauffman had laid out for him. He was still
amazed by the modern look of the bathroom with all the amenities and had scolded himself for thinking it would be primitive. Even the kerosene lantern hissing gently on a small table gave enough light to see everything and probably had a calming effect—but not tonight.

He should have splashed his face with cold water, but he went back and stood behind Sarah's chair in the dark room instead of stretching out on the bed.

“So,” he said, “do you miss this room, staying out in the
grossdaadi haus
so much?”

“Strangely, except for the comfort of the bed, which you'd better try out,” she said, without turning her face away from the window, “I don't. I guess when a woman gets to a certain age, she's ready to move out, move on, have her own home.”

“I can understand that. So you've considered that, too. Ever thought of living with Hannah for a while?”

“Not that. No goth friends who talk music all day long for me. I'd have a place with a room to paint, one sunlit in the morning.”

“Sarah, can't you have that here? If everyone could see some of your sketches—new ones, so vibrant with Amish life—”

“You're starting to sound like Ray-Lynn.”

“On that, I agree with Ray-Lynn. Surely, your family and your people care about you enough to give you a chance to try painting more than birdhouses and barns.”

“It's a different world here, Nate. You've seen that. I'd have to leave them, leave the church, move away to the modern world. It would be too individual, too prideful, considered too ‘just for pretty.' I'd be painting images of people and that's
verboten.
Yes, they love me and that's why they'd shun me. That's the real decision I would need to make, if
it's worth leaving what I know and dearly love to follow my dreams at the cost of being shunned. Individual dreams aren't important here, community, sharing—that's reality.”

“Jack Freeman and I were talking about Noah possibly being shunned. Can you explain it to me? I can sit back down there with the goggles while you talk if they bother you.”

“All right,” she said. “Then, I'll take them back while you get some rest.”

He helped her take them off. The strap snagged in her prayer cap and pulled it off, freeing the heavy pinned-up braid that fell across his arm and down her back. The fact she didn't try to fix either was strangely moving. He sat down and put the goggles on, wishing he could see her instead, though she'd just given him a glimpse into her heart.

“Okay,” she said, sitting on the floor beside his chair with her back to the wall, “our words for what is commonly known as shunning are the
meidung
or the
bann.
Believe it or not, it usually works to bring the erring or sinning person back into fellowship.”

Nate heard the bedroom door creak. Maybe Sarah's mother was bringing more coffee or Gabe was here already. He turned away from the window for a quick look.

A woman screamed. Sarah scrambled up beside him.

“That's him! That's him!” Sarah's grandmother shrilled, pointing at Nate in the goggles. “The barn and people burner, the man in black with the big eyes!”

 

“Am I formally under arrest this time?” Ray-Lynn asked as she answered her front door and saw Jack standing there, hat in hand.

“I just wanted to talk, and I was afraid if I called ahead you'd tell me not to come.”

“Very astute. Talk about what?”

“I'd like to step in just for a few minutes, as I'm making rounds. I want to apologize.”

Not knowing what to say and feeling she was all out of sass, she moved aside and let him in. She wished she hadn't changed her clothes after work. She'd washed off her makeup and thrown on a comfy pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was a tousled mess. And the way he was looking at her right now, half whipped puppy and half hungry wolf, really sapped what strength she had left.

“Please sit down,” she said, leading him into the living room and gesturing toward the couch. He sat on its far end, turned toward her as she settled on the other end, tucking one leg up under herself. When he dropped his hat on the coffee table, he just missed her bobblehead Scarlett O'Hara who nodded at him. “Go ahead,” Ray-Lynn said. “This is your party.”

“Wish it was. I just want to say I know I overreacted to you not telling me you were at the Esh place the night of the first fire. But you should have told me, told me why and that would have been fine. Topic number two, I know you're gung ho about helping Sarah Kauffman paint more than geometric designs on old barn wood, but you better lay off. Not only because you'll upset the Amish community, but because she seems to be the focus of our arsonist.”

“You want the truth? So far, this sounds like true confessions, so here goes. Yes, I want to help Sarah. And on a practical level, she'd be able to pour money into this economically hurting community, hurting at least until this big bump in visitors we've had from the arsons. But I want to help her for myself, too, partly because it would give me great satisfaction to bring her talent to others, partly because
if I could act as her agent, maybe I could dig my way out from under my partnership with Peter Clawson. He owns seventy percent of my business, not fifty, like most people think.”

He turned more toward her. “That right? Maybe you could get some local investors, buy out his share.”

“No one I know has that kind of money, especially in these tough times, and he'd refuse unless I took him to court—where he'd defend himself brilliantly. I just don't like him telling me what to do, thinking he can control me in other ways.”

“What other ways?” Jack demanded, leaning forward and frowning. “He been coming on to you in ways he shouldn't? Making passes?”

“Not for a while. Not since I told him off. You know, like in the old days, ‘Unhand me, you cad!' and ‘I'm not that kind of girl'?”

Jack threw one arm on the back of the couch and leaned toward her. “Ray-Lynn, you just say the word, and I'll see he never so much as orders anything at the restaurant again, let alone orders you around.”

“And then you'll do what when he fires me? Technically, he can. Besides, he already resents you because you're the other big man on campus around here, not counting our fire marshal boy wonder.”

“Nate's a good man for this job.”

“I know he is, and I think he's a sort of silent partner on my side about Sarah daring to take control of her life and talent. Now, please, don't you go roughing up Peter, either verbally or physically, because it will all come back on me. I don't want to get you involved, but, I swear, I'd do about anything to get that man off my back!”

“So how much money's involved for you to buy him out?”

“I don't think he'd let me buy him out. Jack, I'm sorry I've been so rude and inhospitable,” she rushed on. “Every proper Southern lady I ever knew is spinning in her grave because I haven't offered you something to drink or eat and here we are in food-for-all Amish country.”

She got up and started toward the kitchen, but he snagged her wrist in his big hand and pulled her down, close to him on the couch. “Ray-Lynn, listen. I meant to say this the minute I stepped through the door, but I figured you might brain me with one of those painted china plates if I didn't work up to it. I'm not real good at soft or sweet words, but since you're a Southern girl—lady—let me put it this way, then you can toss me out on my tail if you want.”

Her eyes widened and her lower lip dropped. She forgot to breathe.

“I'd like—I want,” he stammered, “well, to court you, date you, see you, if you could just put up with a guy who's loved only once, ended up with a wife divorcing me. I've lived alone too long, married to my job, and I'm so upset about these arsons I can't see straight.”

For the first time in her life, Ray-Lynn Logan could not find her voice. So she nodded, kept nodding, until she realized she must look like her Scarlett O'Hara bobblehead doll. She gave him a hard hug.