Lancaster County Reckoning. Kit Wilkinson

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       ONE

      Thomas Nolt spotted the bright red car the second he entered the clearing. It made for such an odd sight on his neighbor’s land, in the middle of their Amish community, that he pulled up on the reins of his gelding. The sudden stop of the horse threw the weight of the satchel his grandmother Ruth had loaded up with baked goods and preserves for his “Uncle Jesse” against his back.

      Not really an uncle but his close neighbor of twenty years and considered part of the Nolt family, Jesse Troyer had asked Thomas to come take a look at his well at lunch. So it seemed a bit odd that someone else was visiting at the same time. Not that it was unusual for Jesse to have any visitors, but most of his acquaintances drove the typical Amish horse and buggy—not cars. And certainly not a fancy, brightly colored automobile like this one.

      To be sure, Jesse had not always been Amish. Thomas had been just a child when Jesse had joined their community twenty years earlier, but he remembered how hard the man had worked to embrace the plain life and leave his Englisch ways behind. Ever since, Jesse pretty much stuck to his friends in the Ordnung. He had never mentioned keeping in touch with anyone in the Englisch world.

      Thomas wanted to tell himself that it was nothing to worry about. In all likelihood, the red car’s driver was a tourist who had gotten lost and had stopped at Jesse’s home for directions. Christmas was approaching and tourists seemed oddly fascinated by the simple, minimal decorations with which the Amish commemorated the holy season. Yes, there was surely nothing ominous about the appearance of the red car at all. And yet Thomas could not deny that he felt strangely unsettled.

      His eyes moved over Jesse’s house, and he finally realized what seemed off. It was a cold December day with a biting wind...and yet no smoke rose from Jesse’s chimney. The old man was home. Jesse’s little bay-colored Morgan horse was enclosed in her paddock and his buggy was parked, as always, next to the house. So why hadn’t he lit a fire? An emotion washed over Thomas. It was a feeling deep in his gut—a feeling that something was wrong.

      He nudged King into a gallop over the open field, only slowing when they’d reached the back of the house. Thomas dismounted with one smooth swing of his leg and rushed around to the front porch, where he came to a full, screeching halt.

      “Who are ye?” The words flew out of his mouth before his brain could rephrase them into something more courteous. He took a slow step back as if he’d encountered a rattlesnake. It might as well have been seeing as what stood in front of him rattled his brain. It was a young woman. A young Englisch woman with modern clothes and styled hair and a face painted to a glossy fashion magazine’s idea of perfection. She was petite but looked agile and adept.

      “Who are you?” she countered in a flat tone. She looked down at the bench and snatched up a fancy little handbag, which she stuck under her arm as if to keep it safe.

      This was no tourist. If she was simply passing by, she would have assumed Thomas was the home’s owner, and would have launched into her explanation of where she was trying to go and how she’d gotten turned around. Her expression made it clear that she knew this wasn’t Thomas’s house. And that meant she was looking for Jesse specifically. But why? She looked at him with equal reservation. Tension exploded between them.

      At least he belonged there. Thomas crossed his arms over his chest.

      From the top of her coiffed head to the bottom of her designer boots, she looked as out of place as a chicken swimming in the river. “Are you lost, ma’am?” he asked, hoping he’d read her wrong. “I can tell you how to get back to the highway.”

      “I’m not lost,” she retorted.

      Thomas scratched his head. “Well, then, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”

      “I don’t see what concern that is of yours.” Her voice was edgy.

      His eyes locked on hers. “Well, I’m a neighbor of the folk that live here and I’ve never seen you before. I am just looking out for my neighbor.”

      Thomas noticed that the front door had been cracked open. “Have you been inside, ma’am?”

      “No. Of course not.”

      “Then why is the door opened?” Thomas didn’t mean to accuse her, but Jesse was a responsible man—he wouldn’t have left his door open like that. He would, however, have left his door unlocked. Doors were rarely bolted in their close-knit community and Jesse in particular was known to keep his home accessible. He was unbothered by visitors at any hour who wanted his help or to borrow a tool or simply to sit and share a cup of tea. If this woman had wanted to let herself in, she could have easily done so.

      “The door was opened when I got here, which was about a minute before you did. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even look in. I was just...” She stopped and pressed her glossed lips together. She shook her head and glanced at her watch. “I was just waiting for Jesse. We had an appointment. You don’t happen to know where Mr. Troyer is, do you?”

      “Jesse was expecting you?” Thomas could feel the muscles in his face tightening. Why? Why would Jesse have a meeting with an Englisch woman? He wanted to ask but held that thought at bay. “I assume he is inside. Did you knock?”

      “Of course I knocked.” She backed out of the СКАЧАТЬ