Dark Crossings (8 page)

“Just shut up!” Triana ordered as the gun wavered in her
hand.

But Cesar had turned toward his wife before leaning out the
window to haul up the male mannequin. “What?” he demanded, his voice dripping
menace and reined-in fury. “Is that why you set up this whole thing—ordering me
around, trying to scare her away and now getting rid of Benjamin, instead of
just letting him take the fall for us?”

“She’s lying—she’s desperate,” Triana insisted, stepping closer
to the buggy and pointing the gun straight at Abby.

“The Amish try not to lie,” Abby told Cesar, ignoring the woman
and fighting to keep calm. “And however attractive your wife is, we also refuse
to have marriage relations with a man or woman wed to someone else. I realize
you don’t know me, Mr. Tornelli, but Ben and I are telling the truth about your
wife, so you better hope she doesn’t double-cross you some other way.”

“You lying little—” Triana began, just as Cesar came around the
buggy, took her gun and slapped her right through her hemp mask.

Up this close, Abby got a glimpse of her lipstick through the
mouth hole, and dark lashes through the eye slits. When Abby had flashed the
light at them on the bridge, she had thought at first the woman was Amish, but
it had been Triana’s sleek, silver hair and not a prayer
kapp
she’d glimpsed. They must have feared she would describe them
to Ben and he’d—

But Abby’s hopes that she’d stalled their plans were crushed
when Cesar shoved Triana toward the window and ordered, “Haul that other one up
and let’s get this over.” Now
he
trained the gun at
Abby. If only she could seize the reins and get Fern going. Would a fiberglass
buggy stop a bullet? But she could not leave Ben behind. How much time had
passed?
Dear Lord, please get the sheriff here
fast.

Each time Abby so much as moved, pieces of jewelry and gems
slid off her onto the buggy seat and floor. Could she throw some in Cesar’s
face, or hit him with the buggy whip? She felt filled with fear and fury. Now
she understood how Ben had beaten up Steve Commons when he’d attacked Ben’s
sister. Oh,
ja,
if given the chance here, she would
not turn the other cheek.

The male figure—garbed in Ben’s clothes, for all she
knew—scraped over the windowsill and hit the floor. Triana was breathing hard,
and Cesar was cussing her out. If only they would start to fight each other with
more than words…

“Get the ropes and nooses,” Cesar said. “We can’t leave marks
by tying their hands behind their backs.”

“There will be hair and fiber evidence, anyway,” Abby told him,
using another tactic. She tried to remember what else Ben had said about being
investigated. “You obviously hit Ben inside his house. You think his blood and
your hair and fibers won’t be there?”

“What the heck is this,
NCIS
Amish?
” Cesar asked. “Girl, I regret that you got caught up in this, and
I half wish I was tossing Triana over the side instead. Now just climb down here
slowly.”

She did, but dared to kneel beside Ben. Sticky blood matted the
hair on his left temple. She dabbed at it with her apron and then saw her
chance.

Triana, who looked furious, was walking in front of Fern and
the buggy to get the nooses. Again Abby assured herself that the Tornellis
didn’t want to have bodies with a bullet from their gun in them. They wanted it
to look as though Ben was so ashamed of what he’d done that he’d hanged her and
himself, or even that they’d made a
verboten
lovers’
pact and jumped off the bridge together.

“Fern, giddyap!” she cried.

The horse jerked the traces; the buggy vaulted forward. Its
corner slammed into Triana, throwing her down. Cesar jumped back to keep from
being hit by the opposite wheel.

Ben’s eyelids flickered open and he moved. He must have been
conscious even before she yelled. He rolled away from Abby into Cesar, taking
him down.

On the floor of the bridge, the two men struggled for the gun.
If Ben hadn’t been wounded, Abby knew he would have won, but Cesar seemed to be
stronger.
Use no violence, turn the other cheek.
The
words came to her even as she ran over and kicked Cesar’s arm to make him drop
the gun. When she saw Ben pull one of the man’s arms behind his back to control
him, she grabbed the noose on the floor and ran over to Triana, who was gasping
for breath and moaning in pain. It looked as if the steel buggy wheel had run
over her foot. Fern must have just kept going, because Abby couldn’t see any
sign of horse or buggy.

She yanked the hood off the woman. Triana didn’t look one bit
beautiful now, tears making black streaks run down her cheeks from her
dark-lined eyes. Abby tied her hands behind her back, tightening the noose
around her wrists. Triana Tornelli sat sobbing in the strewn beauty of the
stolen jewels, which crunched under Abby’s feet when she ran back to Ben.

It seemed to her an eternity before the sheriff came, because
Ben was bleeding and had a horrible headache. Sheriff Freeman approached on foot
with his gun drawn. Abby said to Ben, “Now you’ll really be late for your
meeting with the elders. I hope they don’t think you changed your mind.”

“If you vouch for me, they’ll understand. I think you can tell
them how sometimes the rules need to be broken,” he added, as the sheriff
handcuffed and put both prisoners in the back of his cruiser.

“Well, I’ll be,” Sheriff Freeman said when he returned, this
time leading Fern and the buggy. He stared again at the litter of jewels while
they waited for the county emergency squad to check out Ben’s head and Triana’s
broken foot. “Wait till I call the big city police and that pushy insurance
adjustor and tell them us ‘rural rubes’ solved their case!”

Somehow, though the Amish had no telephones, word spread of the
arrests of the
auslanders
and their stolen treasure.
Buggy after buggy and a few cars drove up, so the sheriff put yellow police tape
across both ends of the bridge to keep gawkers out, while the medics patched up
Ben’s head on his front porch.

“I’m not a bit worried one of your people will take any of
those sparklers,” the sheriff told them. “But we got some folks I don’t trust
far’s I can throw them,” he muttered, then hustled over to tell Burt Commons to
get off Ben’s property and stay off.

Bishop Esh drove up in a buggy with two of the elders and came
over to talk to Ben. Abby had been sitting beside him on the swing, but moved to
the lowest porch step while the medics packed up their things. Though she knew
she should move even farther away from Ben, she didn’t. Surely, when the Plain
People heard what had happened here today, they would understand and
forgive.

“How about we have our meeting right inside your place, so you
won’t have to drive in today,” Bishop Esh said to Ben. “That is, if you’re up to
it. We’re real glad to see you came through all right.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Ben told them. Bandaged head and all, he
stood up. Abby could tell he was a bit woozy, but there was no stopping him, nor
did she want to. Oh, no, she wanted everything settled right now, right here,
because she never wanted to let Ben Kline out of her sight again. From now on,
if he was willing, oh,
ja,
they were going to be
hanging out together.

AFTERWORD

I
T
WAS
A
DAY
Abby
would always remember, and not just because the first snow fell, silvering the
bare trees and etching the old boards of the bridge. Why, the Hanging Bridge
looked like it wore a white linen prayer
kapp.
It
was also the first day after the church service in which Ben was restored to his
people and the Amish faith. And it was the Monday morning he had gone to sell
his truck and buy a buggy. A courting buggy, he had promised her, and he was
going to officially come calling.

She felt as nervous as she had while waiting for her
rumspringa
days of freedom to begin. But she recalled
how strong Ben’s voice had rung out in church six weeks ago when he had knelt
among the brethren and asked to be returned to the Amish church and community.
Bishop Esh had preached on the prodigal son who came home to his family and
people. There had been tears in many eyes, including hers.

And then the six weeks of waiting, with everyone watching Ben’s
behavior, had begun. Those days had been hard for Abby, too, for he was still
under the
bann.
Each week she had invited a
different friend to come live with her to help her get through the days when she
and Ben could not be alone, but yesterday he had been fully forgiven and
reinstated during a worship service. On his knees, Ben had promised to “work
with the church,” and had been welcomed back with open arms—including hers.
Ben’s
bann
was over.

The final words of the bishop as he blessed Ben echoed in her
heart: “The Lord has delivered your soul from death. Therefore, walk before the
Lord in the land of the living….” Both she and Ben had escaped death, and he
had promised her they
would
walk together in the
land of the living.

As she paced back and forth in her kitchen, watching the road
by his house for any sign of him, she read snatches of the latest circle letter,
which lay on the table. She had it memorized, especially the parts about Sarah
and Lena’s best wishes and fervent prayers that everything would work out just
fine for her and Ben.
Ja,
she thought, better than
for Cesar and Triana, who were both going to prison. Better than for the
insurance agent, who was losing her job for targeting Ben after being led astray
by the Tornellis.

When she caught a glimpse of a buggy turning toward the bridge,
Abby sucked in a deep breath and clasped her hands. She’d already seen Ben’s
fine new mare, a former harness racer he’d bought at the livestock auction in
Kidron. But—oh, maybe it wasn’t Ben, because it was hardly a small, two-seat
courting buggy, but a big, six-seat family sedan. He’d gone over to Sugarcreek
to buy a buggy, because he didn’t want to get one from the place where Elam
Garber worked, even though her former friend was going to wed Ruth Yutzy. But it
had to be Ben. Her people were real good at telling who was coming on the road
just by the size and gait of the horse.

Suddenly, Abby felt hit with the jitters. Go out to greet him?
She’d waited years for this. Stay put and let him come up and knock on the door?
What had Liddy used to do when Ben came calling and Abby would peek out her
bedroom window and wish he was coming for her?

But she couldn’t wait a moment more. Smoothing her best apron
over her lilac-hued dress, she pulled a tan woolen shawl around her shoulders,
made sure her
kapp
was on straight, and went out
onto the porch into the brisk air. It sure made a pretty scene with the falling
snow, the buggy and the bridge.

Oh,
ja,
it was Ben, smiling at her.
But when he got down, he didn’t come straight toward her. He leaned back into
the big buggy and lifted down a large, carved, polished chest and carried it
over to her.

“A hope chest full of hope, and I hope I don’t get this or me
turned down,” he said as his eyes went thoroughly over her, immediately warming
the bite of the wind. He held the big box toward her so she could see it
better.

“Oh, Ben, you carved mushroom handles and corners!”

“Right. Mostly turkey tails and shaggy manes.”

“It’s just beautiful!”

“Like you, Abby. Strong, too. Well, do I have to stand here in
this wind holding it, hoping you’ll ask me in and accept it?”

“Of course I accept it!” she said, fighting tears of joy and
sweeping wide the door for him. “And that is one great-looking horse and buggy,
but a big one.”

He put the chest down on her kitchen table and opened it for
her to see inside. Within its smoothly sanded, polished interior lay an
inch-thick stack of money, held together with a rubber band. As he pulled it out
and flipped through it, she saw it was all one-hundred-dollar bills! For one
wild second, it flew through her head that the Tornellis had accused Ben of
theft and—and now here he was with…

“The insurance company did what they called ‘settled’ for
‘undue harassment’ by one of their agents,” he explained. “They were impressed,
I guess, that I didn’t sue them. We made the right decision not to, but this
comes my—our way, anyhow. I think we might want to use some of it to add a
couple bedrooms on the back of this house, fix up my old place and rent it out,
and live here—if you’ll marry me. Abby? You all right? I’m trying not to touch
you yet to sway your decision, but it’s not like you to not have a word to
say.”

“A word to say,” she repeated, feeling dazed and trying to
catch her breath. “Here’s a word then—
ja!
Ja,
Ben Kline!” she cried, and took two running
steps into his arms.

He picked her up and twirled her, until, laughing and
breathless, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, still holding her. “I
figured with that windfall of money,” he said, “I’d just spring for a family
sedan so we have room for our
kinder,
your mushrooms
and my boxes and chests. As for children, we are getting a late start and are
going to have to work real hard to catch up.”

“I like your ideas—all of them.” She barely got the words out
before he kissed her hard. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him just
as good back. When she came up for air, her head still spinning, she said,
“We’ve kind of had a crazy courtship, so far. You think Bishop Esh would let us
have a church and wedding service on the bridge this spring?”

“This spring? I’ve been thinking about six weeks away—the new
year, a new life—but if you want a wedding on the bridge, we can try. Abby, my
love, you’re a gem!”

* * * * *