Karen Harper - Finding Mercy

Ella lit a third kerosene lantern to keep away sad thoughts. Her black mood had been lurking lately, probably because Seth and her little charge Marlena had left. Ella guessed worldly people would call her malady an off-and-on depression. Secretly, from books in the book mobile, she’d looked up the problem, but she still just wasn’t sure what to call it or how to best cope with it. She hoped it wasn’t what she read about bipolar disorder. Mostly, she just hid out when it hit her. You’d think nearly drowning would make every second of life that followed full of relief and joy, but that cold, grasping whirlpool seemed to pull her under sometimes, as it had then.

At least the hard work of producing her small number of Lavender Plain Products kept her focused outside herself. Now her family’s new houseguest gave her lots to think about. Since she’d moved her things into the previous unused upstairs here, “Cousin” Andrew was being given her bedroom. How strange to think of an intriguing mystery man sleeping in her once private place.

She decided to go back to the farmhouse to get the refrigerated items Hannah had brought her from the restaurant for her generator-run fridge. It had been so kind of Ray-Lynn and Hannah to think of a sort of housewarming gift for her, and she was going to give both of them scented candles when she got settled here.

But as she stepped out on her back porch, she saw a figure jogging down the lane from the house or barn. In the gathering gloom, she could see clean white shoes. Those, and the fact no one Amish went jogging, told her who it was. His quick steps spit gravel in a regular rhythm. But it was almost dark, and even buggies should stay off the roads now.

Earlier, she’d seen Daad take Andrew for a tour of the barn and the fields—back to the pond too, a place she always tried to avoid. Then she’d seen Mamm showing him around their big garden, pointing out and naming flowers and vegetables as if he were from another planet. It was pretty obvious to them that their adopted cousin had no idea of how to garden or farm. But Daad and the boys would teach him. She sure could use his help weeding her lavender beds, but she hadn’t dared say so.

Ella headed for the farmhouse. Since her brothers had carried her bedroom furniture to her new place after supper, maybe this would be her last trip tonight. Trail bologna, Swiss cheese, some of Ray-Lynn’s delicious baked goods; she’d seen how much Andrew had appreciated their food… Ach, she had to stop thinking about him so much, just because he was new and different. Too much happening around here at once, but maybe that would help her keep her head above water—she always thought of it that way....

She was almost to the farmhouse when she heard a long squeal of car brakes, then a crash. Not far down the road! What if a car had hit a buggy? It happened too often, and who came out the loser then? Little Marlena’s maternal grandparents had been killed in a buggy car crash in the area that sound came from—the direction Andrew had run.

What if a car had hit him, jogging in the dark on the road?

Not even taking time to call for help inside the house, she lifted her long skirt and broke into a run in the same direction he had gone.

* * *

When Ray-Lynn Logan heard the screech of brakes and the bang! she stopped her van right in the middle of the road.

She’d given her restaurant manager, Hannah Esh, the day off to help her fiancé, Seth, get settled at the Troyer house and to help her family prepare for her wedding day. Ray-Lynn had promised she’d pick her up after she closed the restaurant, and bring her home. Hannah had been living with her ever since Ray-Lynn’s concussion and coma, though of course Hannah was leaving this week to begin her new life as Seth Lantz’s wife and little Marlena’s mother. After her accident—which was really an attempted murder—Ray-Lynn had lost a couple of years of her memories, and that was about how long she’d had the restaurant. Worst of all, she’d forgotten her entire relationship with Jack, the county sheriff, which they were trying to rebuild—a relationship she still wanted to work, thank goodness. As appealing a man as Jack Freeman was, that kind of love—romance—she could not just fake.

But she was certain of what she’d just heard. Her accident had been at night too. She shouldn’t have driven out after dark even now, but she had to learn to cope again, to be normal.

Sweating, shaking, she knew she couldn’t just sit here in her new van in the middle of the road, even a usually quiet, country road in Amish country. She hit her emergency blinkers, fumbled for the cell phone in her big purse and punched in the easy-dial for Jack’s private number. He’d know it was her from the caller ID. He had to answer! Good! No recording. He was picking up.

“Honey, you home?” he asked before she could say a word. His voice sounded so good. “I had a domestic outside of town, didn’t get a chance to call you yet, but—”

“Jack, I’m in the van on Oakridge just before Troyer Mill Road, going to pick up Hannah! I—I’m not hallucinating, but I just heard a car hit something—it’s wrecked—I’m sure of it.”

“What direction from there?”

“Before the covered bridge, but past the Amish cemetery, not too far from that pond in the woods. I’m afraid to go look.”

“Keep clear of it. Go on back to the bishop’s house and wait there. I’ll check it out right now.”

“But Hannah will worry about me. You know she does.”

“You can explain to her later. Just do what I said, and I’ll look into it.”

He punched off. Yes, she should do as he said, but what if she could help someone the way others had helped her? The old Ray-Lynn, the one who was so outgoing, feisty and strong—she had to get her back so she could be the woman Hannah and Jack both assured her had made him fall in love with her. How could a take-charge man like Sheriff Jack Freeman ever love a wimpy, wishy-washy, scared little rabbit? Ding-dang, she still had to recover her old self!

She turned on her brights, put the van into Drive and headed down the road toward where she’d heard the crash.

* * *

Alex’s first reaction when the car roared down the road toward him was to dive out of the way, not even be seen. At least the roar hadn’t included gunfire. Since Atlanta, he’d been paranoid about loud sounds, about vehicles backfiring or even speeding up. If there was a contract out on his life, did he just have to fear guns or could someone try something else? A car accident would look a lot more natural than bullets in the brain.

Praying his location had not been compromised again, he leaped off the narrow road. The speeding car had barely missed him as it vaulted up and over the next hill ahead—and then the crash.

At least the ditch where he’d landed was dry, but when he got to his feet and tried to climb out, he realized he’d twisted his left ankle. Idiot! He’d been so desperate to run for a while, savor the safety and freedom of this place. Now how was he going to get to that wreck, get back to the farm and the Lantzes?

He had to go up and over a hill to see if he could help. When others came, he’d have to fade away, try to cut through the woods past the pond Eben had showed him on his tour this evening.

Alex limped up the hill, which seemed endless. A sharp pain stabbed his ankle with each step. What else bad could happen to him? His past in ruins, his life endangered, probably a price on his head. But he couldn’t just leave someone who might be hurt or dead. As much of a jerk as the driver had been to speed on these hills, Alex couldn’t leave someone in need, no matter if his own hide was in danger.

Running footsteps behind him. What if this was a setup? Someone tried to flush him out with the headlights, tried to hit him, but he’d jumped aside, now they’d make sure…