Karen Harper - Fall From Pride

Over Sally’s back, their gazes locked and held again, the way they too often did. She always felt a funny fluttering in her lower belly she’d never had with Jacob. This man made her blush, too, but at least her complexion usually hid that.

“I had to ask your friend those questions last night, get her info,” he added in a rush.

“You’re really barking up the wrong tree with her.”

“You said that about Jacob, too.”

“She loves her parents, but they wanted her back in the nest under their roof and rules, and it led to harsh words. She was crushed to see the barn was gone.”

“Sarah, she’s still bitter about all that. She’s chosen to be about as far from Amish as she can get, despite the fact she’s still dressed in black.”

“She would never burn the barn!” she exploded at him, then put her hand up over her mouth as if she’d cursed. This man brought out all kinds of emotions in her she’d never known were there, or at least ones she’d never let out before. Why couldn’t she just be like other Amish women, content with her lot in life? Why did she have to yearn for the forbidden—to paint pictures, that is?

“Okay, thanks for that testimony about Hannah,” Nate said, his voice clipped. “You’re starting to sound like an expert witness, but I guess I asked for that. See you later. I’ve got a long day over at the site of the burn.”

As he strode away, she was upset she’d lost her temper. Patience and humility, not anger and pride, were what she needed. She went back to harnessing Sally but turned her head to watch Nate walk away. The man was too lanky, and she’d like to feed him up good. His head was down while he punched something into a little cell-phone type thing with both thumbs. He headed toward the back lane where he had VERA parked. She might have just kept staring, except Sally snorted and stamped her foot.

Just as she was heading out of the end of the lane onto the road, Sarah heard the purr of the big engine behind her. Nate in VERA, of course. Was this driven man, who needed some speed bumps in his life, as edgy as she? Was he annoyed to be slowed down by the buggy, impatient with their ways? May the Lord forgive her, but sometimes, Sarah had to admit, she was impatient with her people’s ways. But right now she hoped Sally didn’t leave any horse apples for his fancy vehicle to drive through. At least he knew better than to honk like some moderns.

As Sarah headed toward town under real horsepower, she craned her neck to watch VERA as Nate went the other way, toward the Esh farm.

Because a TV reporter with her cameraman and several tourists had been standing out in front, Ray-Lynn Logan had opened the Dutch Farm Table a half hour early. She was already there with a couple of her Amish waitresses, anyway, and her profits had been down lately. So she was glad to see Sarah Kauffman coming in the back door with the day’s supply of half-moon pies, which sold much better than doughnuts. Full-size schnitz and shoofly pies and other Amish desserts like date-nut and carrot cake came in from area bakers.

“Not late, am I?” Sarah asked. She was out of breath and looked as rosy-cheeked as she did in bitter winter.

“Not our heroine of the day,” Ray-Lynn told her, taking the basket from her hands and handing it to Leah Schwartz, who took it through the swinging doors into the kitchen. “You should see the special edition Peter put out. Got a real nice ad for the restaurant in it, too, but then he’d better, since he owns part of it. There’s a copy on the counter. Oh, by the way, he’d like a more in-depth interview with you, and I’ll bet the outside media coming in would, too. Two of those critters just left.”

“No. It’s a blessing I just happened to spot the fire first and I don’t want to sound prideful. Someone else made the call.”

“And he’s got a lot to say—Jacob, that is,” Ray-Lynn said, tapping her index finger on the middle paragraphs of the article under the large photo of the flaming barn behind the dark silhouettes of firefighters. “He kind of makes it sound like you were working together to call the fire in.”

“Oh, rats,” Sarah said, and leaned over the paper on the counter. “I did not tell him directly to make the call, but I figured he’d have a phone on him, even if half the other rumspringa kids did, too. I have refused more than once to see him, and we are not in cahoots of any kind.”

In cahoots, that’s a good one, Ray-Lynn thought, pouring Sarah a cup of coffee, then reaching in her quilted apron pocket for money to take back to her mother and sister. The Amish had a fresh way of saying some things. Sarah Kauffman might not want to be in cahoots with Jacob Yoder, but she’d sure like to get Sarah to be in cahoots with her about doing some paintings Ray-Lynn could sell for her. The girl was extremely talented, and Ray-Lynn was willing to risk a lot to bring her Amish art to the world.

“I see there’s a big interview here with Fireman Getz,” Sarah said, obviously trying to shift the subject. “It says he has a broken arm but he doesn’t regret going in first to try to put out the flames.”

“More fool he, and that Levi Miller, too. Levi’s cousin to my waitress Anna, you know, and she says both men got released from the regional hospital. Well, I bet I know why Mike Getz played the hero. He and his gal, Cindee what’s-her-name—”

“Cindee Kramer. She works in the hardware store where I buy my paint.”

“Right. Anyhow, they’re not married but been living together—”

“I know. That takes extra nerve around here.”

“They got into a real tiff in the restaurant last week, something about she didn’t look up to him anymore, but I’ll bet she does now. She had a real conniption at table eight in the back room. I was afraid he was going to start throwing things, but I’ll bet he could run for mayor after those heroics,” she said, pointing to the picture of him, smiling, no doubt, prefire, all decked out in his fireman gear. “What? You’re frowning again.”

“Nothing. I will just give the devil his due.”

Ray-Lynn wasn’t sure what that meant, coming from an Amish girl, but she saw outside what she’d been looking for and muttered to herself, “Speak of the devil…”

The sheriff’s shiny black cruiser with that bold light bar had pulled up to parallel park in front. The restaurant door opened, and Sheriff Jack Freeman came in, hanging his hat on a wooden peg, his sharp gaze scanning the room as if he’d find a robbery or kidnapping in progress in this little burg.

“Morning, Ray-Lynn, Sarah,” he said matter-of-factly. He passed them with a nod and his version of an official smile, then sat in his usual spot at the curve of the counter facing the door with his back to the wall so he could keep a good eye on things. Ray-Lynn used to scurry to pour him coffee and take his order—even when she knew what he’d order already—but she’d decided on another tactic now. No falling at his feet, just take it easy, a bit hard to get.

While Sarah scowled over the newspaper, Ray-Lynn sauntered down behind the counter and nonchalantly poured Jack his coffee during their usual chitchat about the weather. She was up for that much of their old routine, at least. She knew darn well he’d want sausage gravy on buttermilk biscuits and two eggs over easy, but she asked, “What will it be today, Sheriff? I’m sure you’ve got a busy day ahead with the extra folks in town, so I’ll send someone right over to get your order.”

She left him staring wide-eyed at her while she went over to fill other people’s cups at the tables.

Jack Freeman was a few years older than Ray-Lynn but he was holding up better than most men his age. No paunch, very few gray hairs, just enough to make his auburn hair looked frosted at the temples. Unlike the bearded Amish men, he was clean-cut, something he’d never changed from his former marine days. He always looked slightly tanned, which set off his clear, brown eyes and white teeth. His black uniform was military clean and crisp-looking, pretty surprising since he’d been divorced for years and Homestead’s one dry cleaner had gone out of business. It annoyed Ray-Lynn that she got kind of shivery around him. The man exuded authority and control, both of which she was itching to dismantle, at least in private, with her Southern gal feminine wiles. But he seemed to put up a big wall when she came on soft and sweet, so her new strategy was worth a try.