Karen Harper - Return to Grace

“So,” John Arrowroot said as he opened his front door before Seth could knock, “the graveyard hero. To what do I owe this honor?”

“Not a hero in my mind, but I was glad I happened by, maybe scared the shooter off. I’m surprised you know who I am, since I’ve kept my face out of the news coverage.”

“I know who a lot of you are in the so-called Home Valley. My ancestors once called this land Eri’e Rique, ‘at the place of the panther.’ And you just happened by my remote location today, because …?”

“I recalled your roof could use reshingling, and I’m between big projects. Jobs are scarcer than usual for timber framers right now.”

“Ah, yes, the barn builder, the leader of the barn raisings.” The man’s taut mouth lifted in a little smirk. This close up, Seth saw his black hair, scraped back on his skull in a tight ponytail, was threaded with silver that matched his silver ring and a sort of eagle charm on a leather thong around his neck. He would guess the man’s age at sixty or sixty-five. He wore a white dress shirt with jeans, a wide, studded leather belt and Western leather-tooled boots. “Now, that would be different,” Arrowroot went on, “to have just one Amish man hanging over my head instead of all of you. I do get leaks in bad storms.”

“If you have a ladder, I can go up, measure and give you an estimate,” Seth said, trying to keep calm at the man’s subtle digs and goading tone. “I left my ladder where I’ve been working. You ever climb a ladder yourself to look at the roof’s condition?”

“Actually, I don’t like heights. You sure,” he said as he finally stepped outside, “you’re not here to spy on me?”

The man was clever, but Seth had known that. But clever enough to kill someone and escape without leaving a clue, at least at the scene of the crime?

“I intend to fix the roof, not drill holes in it and look through,” Seth said.

Arrowroot almost smiled. “I have no secrets, anyway. I’ve made it clear what my goals are.” He led Seth to the detached, single-car garage and lifted the door himself, though many moderns had a button that did that. “So, how did a man as young as you—what, mid-twenties?—get to be a master builder around here?”

“From the age of fourteen I worked with my mother’s father, Gideon Raber, who taught me about timber framing. He was also in charge of barn raisings, so I had a nine-year apprenticeship with him before he died. It ended up I knew more than anyone else who’d trained with him. But getting back to your obvious goals, why not just file a lawsuit, since you’re a lawyer?”

“The state government’s declined to meet with me so that I can pursue my land claims and the feds don’t recognize Indian tribes or lands in Ohio, so my lawyer’s brain says to go about this another way.”

Seth couldn’t resist saying, even as he hefted the ladder from the garage—only a tall stepladder, not an extension one, “You mean like do something dramatic to draw attention to your cause?”

“In a way. You think you can reach the roof with that?”

“Over on the slant of hill, yes. What do you mean, ‘in a way’?”

“You’ve heard of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ haven’t you? Let’s just stick to roofing. I appreciate your having the guts to come up here, but if you have the nerve to run into a graveyard where people have been shot, guess this is a piece of cake. You know, most of your people are polite but they treat me like a pariah, or at least a ghost they don’t even see.”

“My people love and need their land,” Seth said, noting numerous photos of what might be aerial shots of this area tacked to the back wall of the garage near a cluttered workbench. He wondered if there was a shot of the graveyard there, or the woodlot above it. If he could get a job here, he’d have time to check. So maybe the Lord had inspired him to come here for more than one reason.

Seth positioned the ladder, then began to climb. He didn’t know what a pariah was and he didn’t believe in ghosts. But he was starting to think John Arrowroot had a powerful motive, at any cost to himself or others, to shake things up by bringing in a lot of media coverage here. Linc had asked if maybe the Troyers, who lived on land abutting the hill above the graveyard, would take potshots at weird strangers to bring curious tourists in for their grain mill tours. Seth thought that was a crazy theory, but he didn’t trust John Arrowroot as far as he could throw his entire roof.

After the noon meal, Hannah went out in the new barn to familiarize herself with it. She’d been horrified that the barn of her childhood had burned, and she’d watched from a distance as the men raised this one, with Seth astride the very peak of it.

She stopped to pat her onetime horse Nettie’s muzzle and fuss over her. When she’d left, Naomi had inherited this horse and buggy. Now she realized she’d missed the sorrel mare with three white feet, missed the slower pace of riding in a buggy, when one had time to enjoy the passing scenery which didn’t blur by just like life could do.

Every now and then, Hannah peeked out the door or a window at Seth working hard on the roof. He was almost finished and then wouldn’t be around. Would he still leave little Marlena here during the day? Despite the fact she was the symbol of all she’d lost with Seth, the tot was adorable.

She heard a car and glanced out, wondering if Linc could be back. But Ray-Lynn Logan got out of a van and started for the house. Hannah recognized her not only by her distinctive vehicle but by her red hair. She was a real pretty woman with snappy brown eyes and a personality to match. Her Southern drawl was easy and comforting, like she could lull you into trusting anything she said.

“Ray-Lynn!” Hannah called and waved, ignoring the fact Seth stopped his work to peer down at them. “I just wanted to thank you for the oatmeal chocolate chip whoopie pies you sent to the hospital with the sheriff!”

Ray-Lynn turned away from the house and walked toward the barn with another bakery box in her hand. “Got more for y’all,” she said in her soft, melodic way, “but got to admit it’s a bit of a cover-up. Here,” she said, putting the box down on the family sled Daad had been repairing, then fumbling in her purse. “I wrote the information down in case I didn’t get to talk to you alone. Sarah’s going to marry Nate a week from Saturday in Wooster, and I’ll take you there for the service and reception if you want to go. I know how much it would mean to her—to you, too, I bet.”

“Oh!” was all Hannah could manage at first as she took the note from Ray-Lynn and held it tightly. Weddings! Weddings everywhere, English and Amish. And poor Ray-Lynn looked like she wanted to cry, as well.

“I’d love to be there for her,” Hannah said. “Thanks for this, Ray-Lynn. I’m sorry, I’ve decided not to take the job the sheriff said you offered me. I just don’t want to face so many people right now, be in such a public place, however warm and friendly your restaurant is. I think I’m going to take a part-time housekeeper job at Mrs. Stutzman’s B and B.”

Ray-Lynn sank onto a hay bale and pulled Hannah down beside her. “My motto is, when you’re all shook about the way things are going—with life, with losses, with love—just eat,” she said. She reached for the box she’d just given Hannah, opened it up and pulled out two whoopie pies. She gave one to Hannah. Ray-Lynn took a big bite of hers, then talked with her mouth half-full.

“Do me a big favor, Hannah. Keep an eye on one Lily Freeman at the B and B. See what she’s like, what she really wants around here.”

Hannah swallowed her mouthful of the cookie and wiped frosting off the side of her mouth. “I heard about her. Okay—for Sarah’s other best friend, who believed in her art and helped her follow her heart, I will.”