River of Mercy (23 page)

“Consider it done.”

“We'll hope for good weather,” said Susan.

“God knows what we need,” Malachi replied. “He'll see to it.”

Gant was no longer amazed by this Amish way of giving thanks and trusting God in even the worst of situations. They were a people who lived in continual trust and constant gratitude to their Maker. He had learned much from them over the past year. Even though he still struggled with some of their ways, he respected those ways and attempted to emulate the ones he admired most.

After everyone had gone, and while Susan and Rachel cleaned up the kitchen, Gant explained to Doc and Gideon why he'd left the pump and gone across the road.

“You didn't get a good enough look to tell who it was?” asked Doc, clearly troubled by this disclosure.

Gant shook his head. “Could have been anyone. I saw something white, but I couldn't tell what. But whoever it was seemed awfully interested in what was going on.”

“And not interested in helping to fight the fire,” Gideon put in, a scowl darkening his face.

“So you think the person you saw might have set the fire?” Doc asked.

Gant shrugged. “You have to wonder. If not, why wouldn't he have come over and helped the rest of us? Obviously, he intended to stay out of sight.”

“Well, I'm going over to the woods and look around,” Gideon said, moving toward the door.

“That's probably not such a good idea,” Gant said. “We don't know who's out there. There could have been more than one. Just because I didn't see anyone else doesn't necessarily mean he was alone.”

Gideon whipped around with an impatient frown. “I'm not exactly helpless. I can take care of myself.” His face flamed as if he thought that Gant might take his words as an insult. “I'm just going to look around. Somebody needs to do something.”

Gant drew a long breath. He was already familiar with the youth's impetuous nature. But he could hardly fault him for his frustration. Gideon might not be living Amish, but these were his people, his family, and their troubles were mounting. It was only natural that he would want to find out who was responsible for those troubles. In the end it was Rachel who convinced Gideon to stay. Gant hadn't realized she'd come into the hallway and had heard at least part of their conversation.

“Don't, Gideon. Please.” Her voice was low but firm. “You're not going to do any good by going out there tonight. Whoever was there is long gone by now. All you'll accomplish is to worry Mamma. At least wait until tomorrow.”

She paused. “How did you get here so quickly, anyway? Mamma said you were staying in town tonight.”

The instant change in Gideon's expression pricked Gant's curiosity.

“I changed my mind.” Gideon's tone was unusually sullen, and he was clearly avoiding his sister's gaze. “I was already on the road home when I saw the smoke.”

Gant couldn't help but wonder about the boy's reply and the furtive look on his face. He'd noticed that the pretty young Emma Knepp had showed up quite a while after her parents and brothers tonight, but not long after Gideon arrived. He hadn't thought much of it at the time because of all the commotion with the fire, but now he wondered if those two had possibly worked out a way to see each other on the sly.

If so, they'd better be prepared to put out another fire—one with Emma's father.

Doc spoke up then. “Rachel's right, Gideon. “Wait until morning, when we can see. I'll go with you, and we'll have a look around the barn as well. If you're staying here tonight, that is.”

Gideon glanced from Doc to Gant and then to Rachel. Finally he gave a short nod.

Rachel followed Gant out when he prepared to leave, an act that pleased him no end. He wouldn't have put her on the spot by asking her, but the entire time they'd been in the house he was hoping for a way to see her alone, at least for a moment.

She said nothing to her family but simply pulled her coat from the hook by the door and threw it around her as they stepped out onto the porch. “Thank you for your help,” she said as she shut the door behind them.

Gant smiled a little at the almost formal tone of her voice. “You don't have to thank me, Rachel. I'm just glad I was here.” He waited. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I just…I hate all this.” She made a gesture of frustration with her hands. “All this trouble. Someone wanting to hurt us. Never knowing what might come next or why it's happening. It's hard.”

An old anger Gant had felt before again rose up in him. The injustice and trouble wreaked on such a gentle, pacifist people never failed to rile him. “Doc told me about the mistreatment the Amish have suffered in other places besides Riverhaven. He said it's been going on for generations.”

“Ja,”
she said quietly. “This is nothing new. There has always been violence against us. Before our people ever came to America, there was trouble. They thought it would be different here. But it seems wherever we go there are always some who resent us…even hate us.”

Gant studied her. Somehow the confusion and sadness in her face worked together to heighten her loveliness.

“There's no understanding it…”

He let his thought drift off, unfinished, but he couldn't stop the worrisome question that had plagued him before tonight. What was it about the Amish that evoked this desire, the need to hurt them, to attempt to drive them away? If indeed that's what all this was about—a hatred so intense that whoever harbored it was resolved to make life so miserable for an entire people that they would just up and leave.

Whoever it was—whoever
they
were—knew enough about the Plain People to feel secure that they wouldn't retaliate, wouldn't defend themselves regardless of the cruelty leveled at them.

He made an effort to shake himself out of the black mood that had earlier begun to settle over him. Reaching for Rachel's hand, he touched it only briefly before releasing her. “It's cold out here. You'd best go inside.”

She nodded. “You'll be careful going back to town?”

“I'll be fine. There's not another creature in the county that can outrun Flann.” He hesitated. “But Rachel, please don't stay alone tonight. Stay here, with your family.”

He could sense that she was about to protest. But instead she searched his face for a long moment, finally giving a conciliatory nod. “If you think I should.”

“I definitely do.”

Relieved, he very nearly took her hand again but stopped. As much as he wanted to touch her, it was a hard, hurtful thing to let her go. He wanted…he needed more from Rachel than a touch.

He wanted her heart.

22

It's wiser being good than bad;
It's safer being meek than fierce.

R
OBERT
B
ROWNING

C
aptain?”

Gant had just reached Flann, hitched in front of the house, and was about to mount the big red horse when Gideon stopped him.

“You could do with a coat, lad,” Gant told him.

The youth glanced down over himself as if he'd only then realized he was still in his shirtsleeves. “I'm all right. I wanted to catch you before you left.”

“Something wrong?”

“No. Well, I don't think so. It's just that—I saw the way you looked at me when Rachel asked how I got here so quick.”

“What way was that?” Gant said, intrigued by the boy's apparent unease.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I had anything to do with the fire.”

Surprised, Gant stared at him. “Why would I think anything of the kind?”

“I don't know. I just…had the feeling you might not have believed me.”

Gant studied him for a long moment. “You don't have to explain yourself to me, lad. But now I'm curious. Why would you ever think I'd suspect you of burning down your own family's barn?”

The boy seemed to loosen up a bit at that. “Well…I hoped you wouldn't.” He dug the toe of his shoe in the dirt a couple of times. “All right, then. I just wanted to make sure.”

“One thing though…”

Gideon visibly tensed again. “I don't know what's on your mind, but whatever it is, let me just suggest that you
do
want to be careful not to bring any trouble down on yourself or anyone else by some manner of foolishness. Speaking from experience, it's a good thing to count the cost of any behavior you're not quite comfortable with. Acting on impulse can be a treacherous thing.”

Gideon glanced away, then back. “I'm…pretty careful about what I do.”

“Good.” Clearly, the boy still felt awkward. No doubt because he knew what—and whom—Gant was referring to. Emma Knepp.

He moved to change the subject. “By the way, there's something I was going to ask you earlier but didn't have a chance. Did you happen to notice anyone missing tonight? Someone you'd expect to show up where there's trouble?”

Gideon frowned, but his expression quickly cleared. “Samuel Beiler.”

“So you didn't see him either.”

Gideon shook his head. “No. But I know why. He was spending the day in Marietta.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was talking to…I happened to meet up with Emma Knepp in town, and her
dat
was going too. And her brothers. They were all going to an auction.”

Gant nodded, his curiosity satisfied for the moment, though he still felt strangely unsettled. He mounted Flann and would have left had Gideon's next words not stopped him.

“I don't blame you for wondering. I don't quite trust Samuel Beiler either.”

“I don't recall saying anything about not trusting the man.” Gant hesitated before adding, “But what accounts for your feelings?”

Clearly, the boy was now feeling the need of a coat as he hugged his arms around himself. Even so, he shrugged and made an effort to explain. “It might be because old Sam thinks he's so perfect nobody else can live up to his standards. I probably shouldn't say this, but I have a hard time believing anyone is that perfect.” He paused. “Truth is, I've always been kind of sorry for his boys, being raised by that kind of father.”