Peace (2 page)

Fear knotted her stomach as she tried to keep her cool. “You take care of babies, Beth,” she told herself sternly. “You've nursed children through all sorts of illnesses. Even helped a boy recover from an emergency tonsillectomy when his father was out of town.”

Surely, she could help one man seek medical help?

Unable to stop herself, she lightly touched his shoulder before getting to her feet. She needed to go find the phone Luke insisted Frannie keep at hand for emergencies.

She'd just picked up the cell phone when Chris called out her name.

“Don't, Beth. Don't call.”

“I must. You're injured. And . . . and you're bleeding, Chris. Something awful.” When he merely raised a brow, she said, “Chris, this . . . this is mighty bad.”

“No, Beth. You can't contact the police.”

“I was going to call for an ambulance.”

“Nope. Not them, either. Put that phone down, Beth. Making that call could put both of our lives at stake.”

Surely he was exaggerating things? “You need help, Chris. You need stitches.”

“Then you're going to have to stitch me up. You know how to sew, right?”

“
Jah
. . . but—”

“But nothing.”

But everything! She couldn't sew
him
. Realizing that he was truly worried about their safety, she softened her tone. “Chris, listen—”

Looking weary, he propped himself on his elbows. Stared at her again with those unusual pale eyes. “Beth, no one can know I'm here.”

The agitation that had been teasing her conscience switched to fear in the span of a heartbeat. “Why, exactly are you here? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I'm in trouble, but I don't know why I came here. I was driving and so tired. And then I saw the signs for Marion and I remembered the inn. I couldn't go home. I . . . I had thought Frannie could help me.” As if his short speech had sapped all his energy, he lay back down on the ground.

“You wanted Frannie's help?” Oh, she hoped he wouldn't hear the pain in her voice.

“Yeah. Where is she?”

“She went to Cincinnati with her husband. With Luke. For Christmas,” she added somewhat lamely.

“So they did get married.” His voice turned soft.

She cleared her throat in order to hide her nervousness. In order to hide the hurt feelings she was trying to conceal. She shouldn't be disappointed that he'd come back looking for someone else besides her. She really shouldn't.

“I need to hide, Beth . . . until December twenty-sixth.”

“That's days from now!” What was she going to do with him for days on end?

“I don't have to stay that long if you don't want. All I really need is to lay low for a day or two. Just until I'm healed enough to get away. Neither my boss nor Taylor can meet up with me until the day after Christmas. Can I stay, even if it's just for a little while?”

To her embarrassment, she realized she knew exactly who Taylor was. His brave and resourceful female partner. The mention reminded her of just how different that woman must be from her. How Taylor would probably know exactly what to do.

And yet, Chris came to the Yellow Bird Inn for help. “I . . . I just don't know.”

He met her gaze again. Seemed to come to terms with whatever he saw in her expression. Then came to a decision.

With a grimace, he raised himself back up on his elbows. “You know what? It's okay. I'll go. I shouldn't have come here. I knew better.” He shifted again, now sitting upright. “Just give me a few minutes, and I'll get out of your way.”

The right thing to do would be to stand firm. To agree with that plan of action. She was only living at the Yellow Bird Inn part-time, as a way to keep an eye on things for Frannie. Never had Frannie imagined that there would be a visitor. In fact, she'd told Beth that she'd lied to two couples that she was full over the holidays so that Beth wouldn't be tasked with cooking and cleaning, two things she wasn't so skilled at.

So, yes, it would be best for Chris Ellis and his blood and injuries and mysterious life to leave. Beth had no authority to accept any guests. And it surely wouldn't be right to accept a guest without checking in with Frannie first.

And yet . . .

“Chris, are you sure you don't have somewhere else to go for Christmas?”

The look he sent her spoke volumes. “Not everyone remembers it's almost Christmas, Beth.” His voice was gentle, almost as if he hated to be the one to tell her that for some people Christmas was only another day to get through. “And not everyone wants to see their family on that day.”

It broke her heart. “No?”

“No.” The skin was white around his mouth as he struggled to his feet, obviously favoring his right leg. “I'll be fine. Don't worry.”

He wasn't going to run to his partner; he wasn't going to turn to his family. He was going to be alone. She knew it as surely as she knew that even after all this time, she still dreamed about him.

Still thought about him. Thought about what would never be. Before she could change her mind, she spoke. “Stay.”

He stilled. “You sure?”

Her gaze met his. And in that instant, she knew he saw the tears in her eyes. Saw how vulnerable she was . . . at least when it came to him.

“I'm sure. Stay here until your boss or partner can come get you. I'll help you get better. I'll sew up your wound.”

“Don't forget—no one can know I'm here, Beth.”

“Then I won't tell anyone you are.” There. The decision had been made.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “Now, if you could, tell me where to go. I've only got about another two minutes in me before I pass out again.”

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to the stairs. Though it was tempting to put him in the one guest bedroom downstairs, she felt it would be safer if he stayed in a more secluded spot.

Without a word of explanation, she guided him up the stairs, leading him one step at a time. Their progress was halting and painful. When they were only halfway, he was leaning so heavily on her, she wasn't sure that she could continue without a rest.

But finally they made it to his room. It was at the end of the hall, next to the bathroom. The room was smaller than most, and rather sparsely furnished, too. But it was warmer than some of the others and also held an oversized easy chair, which was perfect for a man of his size.

When she helped him lie down on top of a thick quilt patched in a crazy quilt design, he gripped her arm. “Beth?”

“Jah?”

“Don't forget about the blood.”

“Blood? I don't understand.”

His face paled as he struggled to speak. “I . . . I parked in the back, near the woods. But you've got to check to make sure I didn't bleed on the ground. Do you understand?”

Then he closed his eyes and fulfilled his earlier promise.

He'd passed out.

And left her with a terrible load of problems as well as a miserable trail of blood to remove. Why did the worst things always happen when Frannie was out of town?

Chapter 2

Some folks wonder why I watch both English and Amish kinner. But to my way of thinking, all God's children are basically the same. Especially at Christmastime. Ain't so?

B
ETH
B
YLER

Thinking he was alone in the store, Jacob Schrock crumbled his father's latest letter from prison and tossed it at the trash can. The wad of paper sailed through the air, skimmed the rim of the metal can, then promptly floated to the floor.

It seemed he couldn't even get his father's letters out of his life easily.

He was about to stride over and pick up the offending piece of paper when his wife, Deborah, bent down and snatched it up.

She glanced at the crumpled slip of notebook paper in her hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his. “What is this, Jacob?”

“You know exactly what it is—it's another letter from my
daed
.”

“Did you read this one? Or were you too busy again?” Her tone held a healthy amount of sarcasm in it.

Jacob didn't blame his wife for being so sarcastic. Throwing out his father's carefully penned letters was a rather harsh thing to do. But he was justified, he was certain of that. He'd promised himself not to dwell on the past, and to him that meant moving forward after his father's imprisonment, not looking backward.

And even though they were married, this was
his
father they were talking about, not hers. After all, some things simply couldn't be shared. This was one of those things. “I did read the letter.” This time, he had.

She raised an eyebrow. “Every word?”

“Almost.” He'd read until his father started asking him for forgiveness. But instead of admitting that, he turned away and pretended to be very interested in cleaning out the immaculate shelves underneath the front counter of the Schrock Variety Store. Which, of course, was his family's namesake. Now, though, he was the one running it.

Still holding the crumpled paper, Deborah softened her voice as she walked to his side. “Jacob, maybe we should talk about this.”

“Talking won't help. Besides, there ain't anything to talk about.”

“Your mother says that every time she visits your father in prison he always looks a little worse.”

“Prison is a harsh place. I can't imagine that he's having an easy time of it.”

“I don't think it's only the prison that is hard for him to bear. I think he's having a hard time dealing with your anger.” When he flinched, she softened her tone. “Jacob, I think you need to think about your feelings. Pray on it. You need to find a way to forgive him. . . .”

Anger flashed through him like an old, violent friend. “Deborah, he was going to let me take the blame for Perry's death. He hired a lawyer. And most importantly, he knew the guilt and pain I felt about the fight I had with Perry was eating me up . . . and he let me suffer. If I hadn't pushed him, if my mother hadn't pushed him to admit everything . . . if Detective Reynolds and Sheriff Kramer hadn't questioned him so much, pressing him to finally admit the truth, I could be the one sitting in prison.” He still felt dizzy when he remembered sitting with his father at their kitchen table, and discovering that his
daed
had been willing to do whatever it took to protect himself—and keep his own actions a secret.

His wife sighed, and the look on her face told him that he was trying her patience something awful.

So he held his tongue. Barely.

“What Aaron did was wrong, and I know he's sorry for it, too,” she finally said. “But he's paying the price now.”

“So am I,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Jacob, don't forget that it was my brother who was murdered.”

“I never—”

She held up a hand. “What I'm tryin' to say is . . . if I can find it in my heart to forgive your father, I would think you could, too. It's our way, you know.”

She was referring to one of the hallmarks for the Amish faith. To turn the other cheek. To seek to forgive. To rely on God for retribution, not to take matters into one's own hands.

But while it was a commendable belief, it wasn't so easy to put that philosophy into action. At the moment, he wasn't ready to forgive, and there was no way he could convince Deborah to understand.

He didn't know how to make her understand things from his point of view. He'd already tried, but she had obstinately stood firm.

“Deborah, I know you don't approve, but you've got to at least try to see things my way. I can't change how I feel.”

Setting the letter on the counter, she looked at him sadly. “Please pray about this. I know if you let the Lord guide you, your burden will feel lighter,” she murmured, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Especially now, at Christmas.”

“Christmas is just another day, Deb.” To his shame, instead of accepting her gesture of comfort, he shrugged off her hand.

Visibly stung, she stared at him for a long moment, then walked out of the store.

Leaving him alone with his hurt and his pain . . . and now his guilt. The day he'd married Deborah had been one of the happiest of his life. He'd felt so hopeful that all the pain of the past year and the long murder investigation were behind him.

Now, six months later, he was even starting to feel like people in Crittenden County were accepting him again. They were beginning to frequent the store more, and no longer avoiding him at church.

But now this friction caused by his father's need for absolution was creating a fissure in his fragile new bond with Deborah. If they couldn't see eye to eye, he knew things were going to turn dark again.

And though it was almost Christmas, he couldn't see any way around that.