Amish Country Box Set: Restless Hearts\The Doctor's Blessing\Courting Ruth (17 page)

“At the auction.” Her gaze was troubled. “I think I might have mentioned it to you. There were four boys—they went running by, jostling me, on purpose, I thought. Three wore high school jackets, and the fourth was Amish.”

The moment she’d said the words, Fiona regretted it. She could see by Ted’s expression that he thought this meant something, but how could it? There were probably hundreds of teenage boys in the township, and running around was what kids did best.

“Did you recognize any of them?” That was his crisp cop’s voice.

She shook her head. “I didn’t know many people in town then. I certainly didn’t know them.”

“What about now? Picture them in your mind. Have you seen any of them since?”

She pulled her hand away from his, clasping them both in her lap. “It was just a glimpse. If I did see them now, I probably wouldn’t recognize them.”

“You’re not trying.” He leaned toward her, face intent. “Picture it happening again. What did you see?”

She closed her eyes briefly, hoping that would convince him that she was trying. “Blue jeans, high-school jackets. Those pricey sneakers all the kids seem to wear. I didn’t really get a look at anyone’s face—they went by too quickly.”

“What about the Amish kid?”

Frustration gripped her. “I just saw him from the back. He looked like any Amish boy—dark clothes, fair hair under a black hat. It could have been anyone.”

He leaned back in the chair, and she didn’t care for the way he was studying her. “Maybe if you took a walk around the high school, you’d spot one of them.”

“I couldn’t possibly identify anyone. And even if somebody did look familiar, you can’t arrest him on that.” He wasn’t leaning toward her any longer, but she still had the sense that he was pressuring her.

“I wouldn’t be relying on that for an arrest, but it might give me a lead. At the moment, I have nothing.”

“You haven’t told anyone that I reported the vandals in Ruth’s store, have you? You said you’d keep it quiet. But if I went wandering around the high school, it wouldn’t take people long to figure it out.”

“You have a point.” He frowned. “That would certainly alert them. I want to catch them, not just scare them off. Look, what about glancing through the school yearbook?”

“How could I possibly pick anyone out that way?” She wanted to shake him until he accepted that. “Even if I did, there’s not a shred of evidence that the boys at the auction are the vandals.”

“Maybe not, but it’s odd, three high school boys ramming around the auction in the company of an Amish kid. That doesn’t often happen.”

“I still can’t—”

“What’s really going on here, Fiona?” Ted planted both hands on the arms of the chair. “You’re stonewalling everything I suggest. I agree, this might be a wild-goose chase, but I have to do something. Don’t you want to help?”

Her throat went tight. She hated arguing with him, hated feeling that she was letting him down, and she had a feeling he wasn’t going to understand her reasons.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just that I’m finally starting to feel as if I belong here. You of all people know how difficult it’s been.”

He tried to interrupt, but she swept on, riding a wave of determination not to lose what she’d found.

“If the Amish were practically ready to boycott me
because I’m Hannah’s daughter, what do you think they’ll do if I turn in one of their kids for vandalism? And what about the rest of the community? They’d go right back to seeing me as an outsider, interfering in their business.” Maybe that was selfish, but she risked losing everything she’d built here.

His jaw looked as hard as iron. “You can’t let that keep you from doing your duty.”

“It’s not my duty. Maybe it’s yours, but it’s not mine.” Why couldn’t he see that she only wanted to live in peace?

He shoved himself out of the chair and stood for a moment, towering over her. Just looking at her. Finally he shook his head.

“I know how much you want to belong here. But if you’re going to accept the advantages of belonging, I’d think you’d be willing to accept the responsibilities, too. I guess you’re not.”

He turned and walked out. She didn’t call him back.

* * *

Fiona hung up the phone and walked slowly toward the hall, touching the lush blossoms of the geraniums on the windowsill as she passed them. Her office had turned out well, but now she couldn’t think of that without remembering Ted admiring it. Somehow all of her thoughts of this place were tangled up with him.

And now with the disappointment he’d shown yesterday when she’d refused to help him.

Not refused, she corrected quickly. She couldn’t help him. Didn’t he understand that?

She knew perfectly well why she’d made that call to San Francisco. She’d needed to talk to her friend, to someone from that other life, who’d understand why she’d reacted the way she had to Ted’s suggestion.

Tracy had been supportive, and while Fiona was talking to her she’d felt perfectly justified. Unfortunately, once she’d hung up, all those rationalizations sounded hollow. Was she really refusing to take on the responsibility she should for her new community?

Frustrated with herself, and more than frustrated with Ted, she grabbed her handbag, making sure she had her cell phone, and went out the door, locking it behind her. She’d walk over to Ruth’s store and have a chat. Maybe that would reassure her that she was doing the right thing, not risking what she had here.

The bell over the door jingled, seeming louder than normal, as she went inside the store. She glanced up at it, then at Ruth, who was coming toward her from the counter with a welcoming smile.

“Did you get a new bell?”

Ruth glanced at it, mouth quirking. “Sign of the times. Ted said I should be sure I could hear when someone came into the store.” She shook her head. “I can remember when folks would come in, get what they wanted and leave the money on the counter. Now it’s bells and alarm systems and not even trusting your neighbor.”

“I’m sorry.” Here was a different aspect—not a
question of law but one of being able to trust. “Did you put in an alarm system after the vandals hit your store?”

Ruth nodded, smoothing her hair back under her cap. “Ja, I decided Ted was right about that. I was fortunate that it wasn’t worse—maybe something scared them off before they could do too much damage. Or somebody.” She gave Fiona a bright-eyed, questioning look.

Fiona struggled to hold a polite, interested expression. There’d probably be no harm in letting Ruth know she’d called the police, but how would she know how fast that would spread, or how other people would react?

“I’m glad you have protection now. That must make you feel safer.”

“That’s true, but still I’m sorry for the need of it.” She sighed. “Used to be I knew every living soul in Crossroads Township. Now, with all the new folks coming in from goodness knows where, with goodness knows what kind of values—” She stopped, flushing slightly, and reached for Fiona’s hand. “I didn’t mean you, no. After all, you’re one of us.”

Fiona wanted to hold on to that sense of belonging without adding in that little smidgen of guilt that Ted had induced. It would be nice if she could get his voice, and his disappointment, out of her mind.

“Goodness, I’m forgetting myself. Your aunt is in the workroom. You’re probably here to see her, not listen to me babble.”

“It’s always a pleasure to see Emma, but yes, I actually came to see how you’re doing.” Somehow she
hadn’t been able to form the habit of saying ‘Aunt Emma,’ probably because Emma seemed like a contemporary of hers, instead of her mother’s.

She went through the archway, minding her step on the old wooden floor that sloped erratically between the two sections of the store. When she got past the display rack, Emma was already looking up, smiling, obviously having heard her voice.

“It is good that you are here today. I was hoping to show you this.” With a flick of her wrist, she unfurled the quilt top over the counter.

Fiona let out an audible gasp as she approached, reaching out to touch the flowing colors. The rose centers of each square drew her with their beauty, but the thing that truly caught her eye was the way Emma had put the patches together, so that the dark and light colors created diagonal stripes across the quilt.

“It’s so beautiful.” She touched one of the dark lines, realizing that it seemed to disappear as she looked closely at each patch, forming an optical illusion. “I love the effect.”

“Will keep you warm at night,” Emma said, her face showing the pride in her work that she wouldn’t say aloud. “This design is called Log Cabin with Straight Furrows, like the furrows of a new-plowed field.”

“Is it done?” She stroked the fabrics, longing to see it on her bed right now.

“Not yet.” Emma’s smile suggested that she knew what Fiona was thinking. “I must put the borders along
the sides, and then it will be ready to add the batting and the backing, and we will quilt it together.”

“I’m not much of a seamstress.” She hated to think of ruining the beautiful thing with her crooked stitches.

“It makes no matter,” Emma said. “We will all help you. When we all work together on a quilt, it is…” she hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “It is like sewing love into the quilt. For you.”

Her heart was too full to speak easily. “Thank you.” Their hands met over the quilt her mother had begun for her. “It means a great deal to me.”

“To us, too.” Emma patted her hand. “You are one of us, now.”

One of us.
The words echoed in her heart. Ted’s voice seemed to provide the counterpoint.
You have to accept the responsibilities of belonging, too.

Little though she wanted to admit it, he might have a point.

Chapter Twelve

T
ed shoved the budget report away, frustrated. How could he concentrate on figures when his thoughts were totally wrapped up with people—people he cared about, people who were hurting. Or who would be hurting, if he didn’t do something.

He ran his hand through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension that had gathered there since that early-morning phone call. If he ignored it—

Let justice roll down like the waters, and righteousness like an ever-rolling stream.
If he didn’t pursue justice, he was betraying everything he believed.

He had to do his job, even when he hated it. Like Fiona, who hated the idea of doing something that could get someone in trouble.

But Fiona was a civilian. She had the luxury of standing back, if that was what she chose to do. He didn’t.

He’d probably been too harsh with her, but the
conflict that raged in her was too familiar for him to see clearly. He understood, too well, the cost of belonging. Maybe she was just beginning to find that out.

Getting up, he stretched, his hand bumping the wall. It reminded him of Fiona’s comments the single time she’d been to his office. A shadow moved across the glass window in the office door. He looked, feeling the quickening of his pulse that he should have been getting used to by now. Apparently Fiona was about to pay her second visit.

She opened the door slowly. Her reluctance to enter was so strong he could feel it.

“Fiona. Come in.”

She walked into the office, closing the door with far more care than it deserved. She apparently found looking at it preferable to looking at him.

He pulled the visitor’s chair to a more welcoming angle. “What brings you to visit me?”

“I’ve been thinking.” She cleared her throat. “About what you asked me to do. I still don’t like it, but I’ve decided I should do as you asked and look at the high school yearbook.”

“I see.” The words came out slowly, but his mind was racing. What had changed her mind? It hadn’t been anything he’d said—he’d messed up that conversation thoroughly. He gestured to the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

She sat down, drawing her brown corduroy jacket around her. When she didn’t speak, he knew he had to ask the question.

“What made you change your mind?”

She folded her hands in her lap, looking down at them. “Does it matter?”

He sat down on the corner of his desk, watching her. “Not to me as a cop, no. But to me as a friend—well, yes, it matters.”

Her lips pressed tightly together. Maybe he’d made a mistake in pressing her. Or in referring to himself as a friend.

Finally she glanced up at him, her gray eyes troubled. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—about the responsibilities that come with belonging.”

“And I’ve been thinking that maybe I crossed the line when I said that.”

Her smile flickered. “Maybe. But perhaps I needed to hear it.” She shrugged, the movement restless. “Since I came to Crossroads, I’ve begun to realize that I’ve been looking for a place to belong all my life. But I haven’t thought about what that might cost.”

“It’s not easy.” His mind touched on the perennial sore spot—the knowledge of the pain he’d caused his family by his choices.

“No, I guess it’s not.” She sat up very straight, as if to underscore her decision. “Do you have that yearbook for me to look through?”

He nodded, reaching across the desk to pick it up and hand it to her. “Take your time. You’re not accusing anyone of anything, remember.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she took the book
with both hands. She began paging through it, scanning each page as carefully as if her happiness depended upon what she saw.

Watching her, he thought about the tidbit of new information that had come his way. He found himself wanting to share the burden with her, not only because she might help him rule it in or out, but because the load would be easier for him if he shared it.

But not easier for her, not by a long shot. The careful way she studied each page told him how conscientious she was, how concerned she was not to make a mistake.

The things she’d told him about her family life had shocked and saddened him. They’d also gone a long way toward explaining how guarded she was in some ways. She didn’t want to risk the pain that could come from opening her heart.

She was just now beginning to take a step toward belonging. He didn’t want to think about what it would do to her if that belonging were snatched away. If he asked her to help him further he was risking pain for her, to say nothing of endangering the fragile bond that had formed between them. Still, what choice did he have?