Kit Wilkinson - Plain Secrets

Today had been the first time she’d dared be alone since that morning in the barn, since Jessica’s “accident”—as Thomas, her brother-in-law, referred to the girl’s death. But Hannah didn’t believe Jessica’s death was an accident. Dead bodies don’t get placed in barns by accident. People probably don’t shoot at you and your house accidentally, either. Losing Jessica had been devastating enough on its own—she had never once imagined that whatever had gotten Jessica killed could put herself or any others in danger, too.

Perhaps Thomas and she should not have kept silent about the events surrounding Jessica’s death. About the blood and how she’d been away all night. About her many secrets. About the black car at the barn and the intruder who pushed Hannah down and locked her inside. If only she could relive that last week. As her mother, she could have prevented this. She should have prevented this.

In her mind she replayed the moments when she could have stopped Jessica and asked her what she was about. Each time she’d failed. What she would give to have just one more day with her precious daughter. Hannah dropped her head in a fit of sobs. What she would give not to have found her in the stable that morning. It seemed the more she tried to push away the memory of that morning, the more she relived it in her mind… .

“Oh, Jessica, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. If only I had been a better mother to you.” Hannah had turned the girl’s hands over in her own as she knelt beside her in the stall. The girl was so disheveled, bloodied, dirty. “This is all my fault. I should have known what you were about. Rumspringa or not, I should have taken better care of you. I can never forgive myself.”

Hannah had brushed the dirt and loose hairs from the girl’s face.

“What’s the trouble?” A deep voice had sounded at the front of the barn.

It was Thomas. He must have wondered why she wasn’t in the house making breakfast. She moved to the side so that he could see his niece in the sheep’s bed of straw.

He froze, the color draining from his face. He rushed forward. “Is that—is that Jessica?”

Hannah met his dark eyes. “I—I found her here. She’s dead, Thomas. Jessica is dead. I have failed her and Peter and God…and you.”

“This is not your doing,” he said. “You must not blame yourself. You were a gut mother to her, Hannah. As gut as her own mother could have been. As good as if you had given birth to her yourself.”

His words were meant to comfort, but Hannah fell limp at the reminder of her infertility and the end of what was to be her only chance at motherhood. She just sat crying silently as Thomas placed Jessica’s hands together on her belly and patted them.

“Our God is sovereign, Hannah. He alone is ruler and judge. We must accept what has happened. Be strong.” He touched his hand to hers. “I will call the elders.”

“No. Please. I don’t want anyone to see her this way.”

He had seen she could not be calmed. “Stay with Jessica until I return. I will bring her clothes. I don’t want Nana to see her this way, either. I will also have to call the police, Chief McClendon. He is sensitive to our ways.”

“Yes. Call the police. They will find who did this to my precious Jessica. I will tell them about the car I saw, and—”

Thomas put a finger to her mouth to stop her speech. “You will tell them nothing, Hannah. You know it is not our way to search for answers. It is in God’s hands. Promise me you will say nothing.”

She promised. He was right, of course—investigating was not what the Amish did. But she couldn’t help wishing, as impossible as it seemed, that someone would come and help her find the truth.

Footsteps sounded on the front porch and she stiffened, turning her face toward the door. Elijah’s solid frame blocked the sun from the room, and his dark shadow covered her. Both startled and relieved, Hannah placed a hand over her mouth and released a tight breath.

“I’m sorry. That took longer than I expected. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” He entered the house slowly.

“I am okay.” She nodded. “Did you see anyone?”

“Yes. But not the shooter. I saw a child. And according to him, the man with the Pistole drove away in a big black car.”

A black car? Like the one at the barn when she’d found Jessica? She swallowed hard. “A child?”

He nodded. “Nicholas Miller. My own cousin, I believe.”

“He is. Son of your cousin John. He comes to see the young horses from time to time. Loves them, he does. He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“No. He’s fine. Went home down the path. I watched him through the forest.” He walked closer. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do you know something about a black car?”

“How would I know about a black car?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but Eli’s penetrating eyes kept her on edge. “I pay no attention to such things.”

Closing in the space remaining between them, he offered a hand to help her up. “You sure you’re okay, Hannah?”

“Ach. It’s not every day people run around Willow Trace with guns and bullets.” She stood without his help, took a step back and tried to face him. But the intensity in his eyes made her more nervous than she already felt.

He walked back to the front door and checked that it was secure. She hoped that he had put away his gun. He must remember that guns were verboten. Although there was something—a dark object—in his hands. As he moved back to the kitchen, she saw that it was a black broad-rimmed hat like the one Amish men wore when they weren’t working in the sun. She wanted to ask him where he’d gotten it, but there was a more pressing question at hand. “Do you intend to stay awhile?”

Eli frowned taking a look down at the hat, which he then tossed onto the tabletop. “No, I don’t—just long enough to figure out what’s going on. According to my little cousin, this hat belongs to our shooter.”

“Sure.” She lifted a brow and glared at him. “An Amish man with a gun. Shooting at my house. Maybe you’ve forgotten but we don’t have or use guns.”

He gave her a dissatisfied look. “Any joker off the street can buy one of these hats in a tourist shop or online.”

Right. Hannah dropped her head.

“So, let’s get started, shall we? Who is shooting at you and why?”

Eli didn’t sound angry, but in his eyes, she could see how uncomfortable he was to be there, talking to her again. She told herself that that was why he was being so abrupt, so different from the boy she remembered. She also told herself—and tried to believe—that his detached tone didn’t hurt.

“I have no idea.” And that was the truth. “In fact, maybe that someone was shooting at you? Your life involves guns much more often than mine, does it not? Or maybe it was a hunter with a bad aim?”

He tilted his head to the other side. “Except that it’s not hunting season. You said yourself no one around here owns a gun. And for the other possibility, well…if someone wanted to shoot at me they would have better opportunities than driving out to Lancaster County and aiming through the woods.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “Then it must be a mistake. Who would shoot at me?”

“A mistake?” His face was grim as he pulled his pistol from under his jacket, did something with it that made some clicking sounds, then returned it to his side. He looked up at her again and clenched his jaw. “Two shots within inches of each other, that’s no mistake.”

Hannah turned away and continued to stall the conversation. “Your weapon should be outside.”

“Someone just shot at you. The gun stays here with me where I can use it.”