Marta Perry - Home by Dark

Colin leaned an elbow on the nearest crate and immediately regretted it. He’d have to change his shirt before he headed back to the office.

“I haven’t seen you for a while, Benj. What have you been up to lately?”

There was no mistaking the flash of fear in the boy’s face before he ducked his head. “Not much.” He shrugged. “Helping Rachel is all.”

Colin studied him thoughtfully. Something was clearly wrong, but like most adolescent males, Benj wasn’t about to turn to a grown-up for help. Colin remembered that stage only too well. Still, how much trouble could an Amish kid get into in a place like Deer Run?

“Well, if you’re helping your sister, maybe you’d better get back at it,” he said.

Benj gave a quick nod, hopped to his feet and darted out the door without another word.

Colin watched him run across the lawn, then turned and glanced at the small opening in the piles of junk. He might, if he had to, be able to worm his way through there, but not today.

He stepped back out into the June sunshine, frowning thoughtfully at the back of the house. Whatever it was Benj thought he needed a hideout for, Colin doubted that it was an innocent game of hide-and-seek. But what on earth could a kid like Benjamin have to hide? And what was causing that spark of fear in his eyes?

CHAPTER TWO

BY MIDAFTERNOON, the early enthusiasm Mandy had shown for painting had predictably waned. Benj was quite willing to keep on working, but Rachel decided they’d all had enough for one day. The entrance hall painting was finished, and the prospect of starting another room seemed too daunting.

“Why don’t you show Mandy the outbuildings?” she suggested. “She’s wanted to explore, and I haven’t had time to go with her.”

“Sure thing.” Benj wiped his hands on the edge of the old sheet she’d used to cover the marble-topped stand in the hall. He grinned at Mandy. “Komm, schnell. You remember what that means?”

“Come quick,” Mandy said promptly. “Bet I can beat you to the back door.” She darted toward the kitchen, with Benj letting her get a head start.

It was a relief to see her little brother acting normally again. “Denke, Benj. I know I can count on you to keep Mandy from trying anything too daring.”

A shadow crossed his face at what had surely been an innocent remark. Then he nodded, smiled and chased after Mandy.

Rachel frowned after him for a moment before going into the powder room that had taken the place of a large closet once Amanda Mason had decided she didn’t care to go up and down the stairs too often. A quick washing got rid of most of the paint stains, but the face that stared back at Rachel from the mirror still wore the worried frown that had become almost a permanent fixture in recent months.

She forced a smile, trying to counteract the effect. With her hair pulled back from a center part and the lack of makeup, she looked...well, not like the Amish girl who had run away with Ronnie Mason. That girl had had rosy cheeks and stars in her eyes. With her hair pulled back and sans makeup, this was closer to the Amish woman she would have turned into had young love, in the shape of Ronnie, not intervened.

Splashing some cold water on her face, Rachel turned away from the mirror. Dwelling on the past was seldom a good idea, as Colin had said, and she’d been doing too much of that lately. She couldn’t build a future on what-ifs.

Besides, she had Mandy. Fierce maternal love surged through her. Mandy was worth any sacrifice. The doubts Colin had voiced were the ones that kept her up at night, but she couldn’t listen to them. She would make a success of her plans because Mandy’s security and happiness depended upon them.

The house seemed empty with Benj and Mandy gone. She crossed the hallway and headed out the front door. She might as well check and see if any mail had found her at her new address yet.

The long porch across the front was one of the house’s beauties. In her mind’s eye, Rachel could see it the way she intended it to be, its gingerbread trim freshly painted, geraniums blooming in pots and hanging baskets, with comfortable rockers where her guests could relax.

She grasped the railing as she started down the steps, and it wobbled under her hand. Yet another thing she’d have to fix. She’d make up in hard work what she lacked in money.

The mailbox stood on a post next to the road, since Deer Run wasn’t big enough to warrant a mail carrier who walked from house to house. She pulled it open, finding an electric bill that had apparently chased her from the rental apartment in Philadelphia and what appeared to be a complimentary copy of the County Gazette, a weekly newspaper that was primarily composed of advertisements.

Holding it conjured up an image of Daadi reading through it, word by word, after he’d finished reading The Budget, the Amish newspaper that kept far-flung Amish communities in touch. She could see him so vividly, sitting in the wooden rocker next to the gas stove, his drugstore reading glasses sliding down his nose.

“Rachel? It is Rachel Weaver, isn’t it? I mean, Rachel Mason, of course.” The woman who’d hailed her hurried across the road after a cautious look in both directions.

Rachel waited, heart sinking. She’d been reasonably certain she could count on a call from Helen Blackwood, an elderly crony of her late mother-in-law, but she’d hoped to be a little better prepared for it. All the people in Deer Run she least wanted to see seemed determined to find her when she looked like a bag lady.

Not, she supposed, that Helen Blackwood would use those words. Having spent her entire life in Deer Run, Helen’s knowledge of the wider world was probably limited to whatever she watched on television.

The woman had nearly reached her, and Rachel arranged what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face. “Miss Blackwood, how nice to see you. I hope you’re well.”

“Right as rain.” The woman’s returning smile was somewhat guarded, as if she questioned her welcome. “But do call me Helen. After all, I was your mother-in-law’s greatest friend.”

“Helen,” Rachel repeated, trying to infuse some warmth into the word. His mother’s shadow—that was how Ronnie had referred to Helen in the light, contemptuous way he sometimes had of dismissing people.

Unlike Amanda Mason, who had never succumbed to the idea of women wearing pants, Helen had stuffed herself into a pair of navy stretch pants, worn with a three-quarter-sleeve blouse in a jaunty sailing print. Her sense of the fitness of things had apparently not extended to bare feet, because she wore what must be knee-length nylons with her sensible sandals. With her round pink cheeks and curly white hair, she looked like a china doll in improbable dress.

“I’ve been intending to come over and welcome you back to Deer Run, but I didn’t want to intrude.” Helen sent an inquiring glance toward the house, and Rachel realized she was expected to invite her visitor in.

“You caught me just finishing some painting,” she said, indicating her paint-stained clothes. “Won’t you come inside? I’m sure I can rustle up some lemonade, if my daughter and my brother haven’t finished it.”

“No lemonade for me, thanks, but I will come in for just a moment.” Helen opened the wrought-iron gate, which squeaked in protest, and joined her on the flagstone walk. “I’m afraid you found the house in need of a great deal of work. I told Amanda and told her she should keep it up better, but she got rather...” Helen paused, as if selecting the word carefully. “Well...rather bitter toward the end, saying what difference did it make, since she had no one—”

Helen stopped, her already pink cheeks turning a deeper hue. “Well, anyway, I’m sure that was just her illness talking.”