Dark Crossings (3 page)

Her next customer, a man she did not know, had bought one of
Ben’s boxes. He put it down while he paid for the mushrooms, and Abby had a
chance to see it up close. Maple leaves were carved on the corners and scattered
across the top. It was absolutely amazing, just as Ben had always been.

* * *

A
BBY
, E
LLA
AND
FOUR
OTHER
friends met for a
late-afternoon dinner at the Dutch Farm Table Restaurant each market day. Mrs.
Logan gave them a big table in the back room and they chatted and laughed. As
Abby tied Fern’s reins to the long hitching post in front of the restaurant, she
saw that Ben’s black truck was parked nearby. When she went in, he was at the
counter where singles often sat. She just said, “Hope you had a good day,” as
she went by toward the back room.

“Looking good right now,” he said to her, keeping his voice
low, too.

Now what did he mean by that? she thought, as a bolt of heat
raced down her spine and curled in the pit of her belly. But she didn’t glance
back as she longed to do.

Abby and her friends ordered quickly—they all had the big menu
memorized—and it didn’t take long for Clara to mention Ben.

“I heard a rumor he’s here to rejoin the church, and if he
does, can’t you just imagine the
maidals
who will be
hoping he comes calling? He’ll weigh an extra hundred pounds by the time their
mamms
and
grossmamms
get done feeding him up at their tables, he sure will!”

“And I bet you’ll be first in line, Clara Hershberger!” Ella
said with a pert grin. “But Abby used to know him, ’cause her sister went with
him for a couple of years. And did you see those not-just-for-pretty hope chests
he makes? I’m going to start saving for one, fill it with lavender and
linens.”

“I think,” Barbara Yoder said with a smothered laugh and an
elbow to Ella’s ribs, “you two could go into business together—lavender sachets
sold in his carved boxes. I saw one with butterflies all over it and another
with tulips, so why not lavender outside—and in?”

Barbara Metzler, who was a bit older, sighed and rolled her
brown eyes. She was the schoolteacher and always sounded like one. “Now, let’s
bow our heads and thank the good Lord for bringing Ben back, and hope he’ll
return to the fold. Then Abby can describe that old house he bought, since she’s
just a stone’s throw away.”

“That’s right!” Clara said, looking up from her first attempt
to bow her head. “He’s really close to you.”

“Living close,” Abby corrected. “But if he’s just a stone’s
throw,” she went on, her pulse pounding hard for no reason except they were
talking about her and Ben in the same breath, “it’s like one of those throws
where the stone just skips and skips over the water and doesn’t land where you
ever meant it to.”

Ella frowned at her, and the others went silent. “Like what
does that mean?” Ella asked. “Never mind. Are you sure you’re not eating those
kinds of mushrooms that mess up your head? Now, I’m just teasing. You can tell
us how it was when he was close to your sister, and what you know about him
beating up that
Englische
guy that tried to—” she
dropped her voice to a whisper now, as if they were talking about a mass
murderer “—put his hands all over Ben’s sister. That’s the way my brother Seth
explained it. And then Ben refused to admit to the bishop and the elders he’d
done wrong, and got put under the
bann
.”

As the waitress placed their rolls and salads on the table and
they finally bowed their heads for a moment of silent prayer, Abby admitted to
herself and to the Lord that she and her friends gossiped too much. She also
admitted—as she would never do to anyone else, ever—that she still cared for and
wanted Ben Kline, no matter what he’d done wrong in the past or even if he did
something bad now. That’s just how much she was slipping into sinful thoughts
about him again!

* * *

A
BBY
WAS
STILL
AGONIZING
over Ben and that diamond she’d found when
she got home just before sunset and unpacked her few unsold goods. As daylight
faded, she unharnessed and fed Fern in the small barn she used for her gardening
tools. Next she went down into the cellar where she hid her extra cash in a
metal box, way back on the shelves. In front of it, she stacked the panes of
glass held together with duct tape that kept her mushroom spore prints ready to
be sown on prepared hosts.

But her lantern light wavered, and she felt a sudden cold draft
down here. That was odd. The first thing she thought was that she didn’t need
her spores getting chilled or the buckets of water with spore slurry icing
over.

She gasped. One of the cellar windows was lifted up—wide open,
when she had left it barely cracked! It couldn’t have slid up on its own! She
grabbed her lantern and swung the light around the crowded room. Shadows leaped
at her as the fungi growing on detached tree limbs seemed to sway.

She noticed muddy footprints on the floor under the open
window. Someone had evidently jumped down into the basement. Her heart pounding,
she thudded up the stairs. She wanted to search the rest of her house to be sure
her spending money and that diamond she’d hidden under her stockings were still
there, but instead she simply grabbed her purse, not even locking the door
behind her, and ran outside.

Darkness was descending, but the sunset still silhouetted the
Hanging Bridge in streaming reds. Not stopping to get Fern, she fled toward the
bridge and Ben’s house.
Bann
or not, she needed
help, and he was it.

CHAPTER FOUR

A
BBY
’
S
INSTINCT
WAS
TO
shout for Ben, but she kept quiet in case her intruder was nearby. At least she
could see Ben’s lights across the river. She’d noticed his truck in the driveway
earlier, so he’d beat her home. The bridge loomed ahead, and she ran into its
dark, cavernous depths.

Sounds outside muted instantly. Panic pounded in her ears as
her feet thudded on the floorboards. Her bonnet bounced off, held by its strings
around her neck, and she felt her heavy braid come loose from its hairpins under
her prayer
kapp
. As she burst out the other side, an
owl’s hoot demanded
Who? Who?
as if echoing her own
fears. Who would break into her house and why? All these years out here, so
safe. Now everything had changed, since Ben came back.

Gasping for breath, she tore up onto his porch and knocked hard
on the door. He peered out the closest window. Frowning, he yanked the door
open.

“Abby, what hap—”

“Someone broke into my house, though the cellar. I don’t know
if he’s still there or not!”

He came outside fast, stooped and squinted across the creek,
but she could tell he couldn’t see much. A breeze had come up, and the trees
shed more leaves. “Did they steal anything?” he asked, taking her elbow. A
lightning bolt shot clear up her arm. Ben, forbidden. Ben, touching her.
Verboten,
but what could she do?

“I don’t know,” she answered, panting for breath and pulling
slightly away. “I saw the open window and footprints and ran.”

“Stay inside here while I go over to look around.”

“No, I can’t—shouldn’t. I’ll come with you.”

“Wait right here.”

He ducked inside and came out with a leather jacket and a
rifle.

“Ben—a gun. You can’t—”

“It’s my old hunting rifle, and I haven’t used it since I left
here. It’s not even loaded, but it could be useful, even as a club.”

“I don’t mean for you to do violence—you know what I’m saying,”
she insisted as he frowned at her.

“We’ll just be sure your place is safe,” he said. “Come on
then.”

He locked his front door and started off at a jogging pace,
with Abby holding up her skirt a bit to run behind him. He called back to her,
“I’d like for you to put this jacket on, but I know you can’t take it from me.
You’re sweating but shivering.”

“I ran out so fast without a coat—just nerves.”

“You have anything valuable over there? You had any trouble
with this kind of thing before?”

“Never. Never in all these years.”

But he’d asked about something valuable. Her stomach
cartwheeled. What if the person who lost that diamond had come back to look for
it and broken into her house? Should she tell Ben about shining the light on
that couple?

As soon as they entered the bridge, he threw his leather jacket
on the ground. He must mean for her to put it on, though she could not take it
from his hand. He’d waited until they were hidden on the bridge.

She stooped to pick it up, and swirled it around her shoulders,
then hurried to catch up with him again. Even in the dark—a half moon was now
tilting over the treed horizon when they ran from the bridge—Ben seemed to know
the trail to her house.

Did that mean he’d explored here before? Without breaking
stride, he followed the sawdust path past her stacked logs and around the
irregular mushroom patches. She saw now that, in her panic, she’d left the
lantern in the cellar. Wan light shone from the two low, closed windows on this
side of the house.

“Do you want to just peek down into the cellar first?” she
whispered, out of breath. “I know the window the person used to get in.”

“Okay. Show me.”

She took him around the back of the house, which faced the
forest. Dark now, with the wind up, the Wild Run Woods seemed a living,
breathing thing, shifting, whispering, watching.

She stuck so close to Ben that she bumped into his back when he
stopped and knelt to look in the open window. She stooped beside him.

“Mushrooms down there, too,” he whispered. His mouth was so
close to her ear that his breath heated her temple even in the chill breeze.
“Let’s go in, but you stick tight.”

Holding his gun like a club, he led the way through the back
door. “Sheriff Freeman here!” he bellowed, so loudly she jumped. Despite the
fact it was a lie, it was somehow a good one. Maybe there were shades of gray in
what this man said and did.

They stopped just inside the kitchen, barely breathing. Ben
locked the door behind them. No sound came from inside the six-room,
single-story place but the familiar creak of its old bones.

“Light another lantern,” he whispered. Nervous, but feeling so
much safer with Ben here, she fumbled with the match, then blessed the gentle
hiss as soft lantern light enveloped them. His eyes gleamed as he looked over at
her, then nodded as if to give her courage. She’d slipped her arms into his
jacket now, and appreciated its warmth. It felt cold in the house, as if the
wind were trying to break in, too.

After opening the pantry door to look inside, and then checking
under the sink while she held the lantern for him, Ben started into the living
room. With Abby close behind, he peered into each nook and corner, in closets,
behind doors, under beds in both bedrooms. Well, she had nothing to hide, though
it felt strange to have the man of her dreams in her bedroom. He seemed to dwarf
her bathroom as he pulled the shower curtain aside and checked the tub. She
wished she’d scrubbed it better. They bumped into each other as he turned around
to head out.

Once he was sure no one was hiding anywhere, he checked the
front door, too. “Things look untouched,” he told her, not whispering now. “You
see anything amiss?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t look in my money box, but I’ll
check that. And I have a few other things hidden.”

“Thieves can be clever. Some are neat, too, and until you do an
inventory, you can’t tell what’s missing.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more. A frown furrowed his
forehead again, and he seemed suddenly angry. But he only said, “Now the
cellar.” He hesitated at the top of the stairs that led down from the kitchen.
“Any cubbyholes or closets down there where someone could hide?”

“
Ja,
a root cellar that goes off
from the main part, but it’s pretty full of bags of compost.”

“Point it out but stay back.”

They tiptoed down into the cellar, where he immediately closed
and latched the open window and examined the footprints on the concrete floor.
“What’s all that?” he whispered, pointing to her buckets of slurry.

“Virgin spawn to inoculate maple chips,” she whispered
back.

“Virgin spawn? To impregnate male what?”

“Maple chips! To inoculate them—to make more mushrooms.”

“Oh,” he said, staring at her, his mouth half-open.

Annoyed at herself for blushing over nothing, she pointed
toward the root cellar, lifting her lantern higher. Ben hefted his gun again
and, keeping her behind him, swung open the unlatched door—which shouldn’t have
been unlatched, she realized. When he said, “All clear,” Abby peeked around him
and gasped.

“What?” he asked. “Whew! If an intruder hid in here, he paid
the price!” The dim, four-foot-square space with bags of mixed mulch and manure
smelled like the stalls of the dairy farm where she’d gotten the compost. He
dared to bite back a grin.

“It’s not funny! Ben, someone was in here! He shoved those bags
aside and even sat on one. See that footprint in the mulch mix scattered there?
I keep the floor swept—and the bags closed tight—so he somehow spilled that,
then stepped in it. And maybe he was hiding while I was working down here!”

“At least he didn’t mean to harm you then.”

She nodded, but something else shook her. Either accidentally
or deliberately, in the dim corner of the old, hand-dug root cellar lay her lost
slipper.

As Ben looked around the rest of the room, she retrieved it,
wishing it could talk. “What’s that?” he asked, sinking wearily onto a stair
step.

“It’s the slipper I lost on the path the night I heard that
arguing on the bridge. I found it missing the next morning. That doesn’t mean
the people I heard shouting are the ones who brought it here, but—”

“I’m going to get my sleeping bag and camp outside tonight in
case your intruder comes back.”

“Ben, it’s cold. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Would you rather get in my truck, and we’ll drive to the
sheriff’s office, have him come look around?” he demanded, his voice rising. “I
know as well as you do that our people don’t like to get the law involved, and I
sympathize with that, believe me, I do. Or we can drive to someone’s house—one
of your Amish girlfriends, who can move in with you for a while and get you in
trouble for coming to me.”

“You know I can’t do any of that. I’ll be more careful, lock up
day and night. I’m the one who left that window ajar. I had hunters wander in
for a drink last year and—”

“And you didn’t learn from that? Abby, you could be a sitting
duck out here for—for someone wanting…anything!”

“My family has had this place for decades and nothing has ever
hap—”

“Even when you were just a kid, you always were too stubborn
for your own good!”

“And you got in trouble protecting another woman. I’ll be fine.
I know I shouldn’t have run to you, but I panicked.”

“Oh, right. Don’t call Ben, don’t trust Ben Kline. Why, he
committed violence once, beating up a drunkard who was going to rape his sister!
You’ve still got my jacket on, so don’t let anyone know about that, either.”

“I really am grateful,” she said, taking the coat off and
handing it to him. He snatched it back and threw it on the step beside him. “You
know how the rules are,” she protested, “the
ordnung
about those under the
meidung
.”

“Yeah, I do, but do you think somebody who breaks in and leaves
a slipper plays by rules? If you want me off your property, get in your buggy
and ride for the sheriff or the bishop to charge me with trespassing or putting
a hand on your arm. Otherwise, lock up tight here, I’ll camp outside and we’ll
both get back to our separate lives tomorrow. Then I won’t offer you any more
advice—that is, maybe until I’m Amish again, if I ever am. Or have you got a
come-calling friend who can ride to your rescue?”

“I had one, but I turned him down and—and for all I know, he
might have done this.”

“You’re not kidding, are you? Who is it?”

“You can’t have a word with him. If I see any signs it’s him,
I’ll ask his parents or the bishop to deal with it.”

“Any other candidates for your B and E—that’s worldly cop talk
for breaking and entering—though I guess this was only entering?”

She thought about mentioning the people arguing on the bridge
again, but she needed to calm him down, get him to leave now that it was late.
He shouldn’t be here in the first place. But she was so glad he was.

“Ben, I am regretful about our circumstances. We’re really
strangers and need to stay that way until you decide about your future. But
danki, danki
for your help. I’ll be more careful
now, really, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He stood with a sigh, picked up his jacket and went up two
steps before turning back and stooping to look down at her. “You are fine,
Abigail Baughman. That’s why, if you see anything else suspicious after tonight,
you come to me, and it will be our secret. Come upstairs and lock up behind me
then. I’m going to circle the house and make sure no one can lift any other
window, so watch me from inside.”

She did as he said, closing the curtains after he’d checked
each window, following him around, watching him intently—kind of like she used
to do years ago, she thought. He finally waved and walked away toward the
bridge. Everything was closed and locked, so she felt safe now. Safe, except for
her wild feelings for Ben Kline.

She felt even better when she saw the spending money kept in
her bedside table untouched, and that things in her dresser looked completely
undisturbed. Until, that is, she searched the back of the middle drawer under
her neatly rolled stockings. Her grandmother’s handkerchief was there, folded
just the way she’d left it. But the diamond piece of jewelry she’d so carefully
secreted inside was gone.