When Secrets Strike. Marta Perry

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СКАЧАТЬ there’s a little truth to that,” he said, relieved to see her expression relax. Sarah knew him too well for him to deny it. When you’d been friends with someone since childhood, there wasn’t much you didn’t know about the person.

      That was probably why he enjoyed being around Sarah. Any other single Amish woman would be wondering why he hadn’t remarried before this, with his wife gone for over two years. Maybe even flirting a little. And since he couldn’t look at anybody in a romantic way since Mary Ann’s death, they always made him uncomfortable.

      But Sarah was different. He could be at ease with her because she didn’t have any such notions. She was a friend, a good friend, and that friendship was all they needed from each other.

      * * *

      SARAH MOVED ALONG the rack of quilting fabrics in the shop the next day, sorting and straightening. Several women had come in earlier to choose fabrics for new projects, and that had entailed pulling out dozens of bolts to compare. They’d gone away happy, though, purchases under their arms, and that was what counted.

      The shop was quiet now, with Allison having gone upstairs to her office. In fact, all of Blackburn House seemed still after yesterday’s alarms. Too quiet? Sarah had begun to feel as if she were holding her breath, waiting for the siren to wail again.

      Thank the Lord there’d been nothing more last night or today. Perhaps yesterday’s fires had been simply a coincidence. She pulled out a bolt of cotton and restored it to its proper place among the green prints, running her hand along the smooth surface. Still, two unexplained blazes within hours of each other seemed to stretch chance a bit too far.

      It was odd, surely, that both incidents had happened during the day. She’d think that an arsonist would be more likely to set about his misdeeds after dark, when there was less chance of being seen. She’d intended to mention that to Daad yesterday to see what he thought, but Aaron had been there when she got home, driving every other idea from her brain, it seemed.

      Foolishness, that was what it was. Most people would consider her a sensible woman, but on that one subject, she was ferhoodled. Nowadays young girls, even Amish ones, seemed to fall in and out of love a half dozen times before settling down. Why couldn’t she have done the same?

      Sarah paused, cradling a bolt of material in her arms, a memory slipping to the surface of her mind for reasons of its own. She’d been the only girl in their small group of childhood playmates—Nick and Mac Whiting on one side of her house, Aaron on the other. During the school year they’d been separated, of course, with her and Aaron going to the Amish school, while Nick and Mac went to the Englisch one, but in the summers, she’d tagged along after the boys wherever they went.

      Mac, lively and heedless, had usually been the one to dare the others into some foolish act—such as racing across the field where the bad-tempered bull was kept. No one would say no to a dare, even when they should have.

      “If we all run at the same time, that stupid bull won’t know which one to chase,” Mac had insisted, and even at eight or nine Sarah had thought there was a fallacy somewhere in that argument. But she’d gone, running with the boys, hearing the bull snort with displeasure.

      The pasture was uneven beneath her feet, and fear seemed to make her clumsy. She tripped, stumbled, and by the time she regained her balance, the boys were well ahead of her and the bull so close she could almost feel his hot breath. She wasn’t going to make it—the boys had already reached the fence, but she’d never get there in time—

      Then Aaron was running back toward her. He grabbed her hand, yanking her along—not toward the fence, but to the old apple tree in the pasture. The bull was almost on them when he’d boosted her up into the branches.

      “Climb! Go!”

      She scrambled up and then turned back, convinced she’d see Aaron flattened on the ground. But he grabbed a limb, swinging himself up and out of range just as the bull thundered past, and she’d never been so relieved before or since.

      Funny. She still dreamed of that sometimes, hearing the bull thudding behind her, getting closer and closer. Sometimes in the dream Aaron reached her in time. Sometimes he didn’t. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything.

      In any event, she feared she’d fallen in love with Aaron that day, and her stubborn heart refused to fall back out again, even when he’d married someone else.

      The bell on the door jingled, so Sarah looked toward it, smiling in welcome. The smile faded when she saw Gus Hill slouched in the doorway. In his tattered overalls and stained T-shirt, he didn’t look much like the typical quilt shop customer. As always, his faded baseball cap was pulled low on his forehead, and graying hair hung shaggy around his ears.

      “Good morning, Gus. How can I help you?” Julia might have sent him along with a message, Sarah supposed.

      His sidelong glance skittered along the rows of fabric, then focused on her. “Miz Everly said as how I oughta come by and thank you. Said you looked around for me when you spotted that fire yesterday.”

      So that was the reason behind his visit. If Julia directed Gus to do a thing, he did seem to do it, however much he might skimp in other ways.

      “I was concerned for you,” Sarah said. “I thought you might be asleep and not realize something was wrong.”

      Gus took a step closer, planting a probably grimy hand on a bolt of pale yellow cotton. She tried not to think of the marks he might be leaving. “If I’d a been there, I’d a smelt it for sure.”

      Sarah nodded, but she wondered. If Gus had been drinking, as Mac supposed, would he have been alert enough to notice? Folks said Gus was shrewd in his own way.

      “Well, I was relieved to see you weren’t in danger.” And she’d also be relieved if he’d stop handling the fabric, but she could hardly say so.

      Apparently feeling he’d satisfied his obligation, Gus started to turn away. Then he swung back, frowning. “Here—you didn’t go in my house, did you? Nobody’s got a right to go in my house without I say so.” His voice rasped, and he glared at her.

      A tiny shiver slid along her skin, making the fine hairs lift. “I just looked in to be sure you weren’t there, that’s all.”

      Maybe he was afraid she’d report to Julia on the state of the cottage. Julia probably hadn’t been out there in months, if not years.

      “Yeah, well, see you don’t. Man’s got a right to privacy in his own home, ain’t he?” His tone returned to its usual complaining grumble, and Sarah told herself she must have imagined that note of menace.

      “It’s lucky you weren’t home when the fire started. You might have been hurt trying to fight it on your own.” She’d like to ease him toward the exit, but wasn’t quite sure how to manage it. “You were out early, weren’t you?”

      Anger flared in his face, so quickly it startled her. “No business of yours if I was, you hear?” Gus took a step toward her, oddly menacing.

      Sarah was suddenly aware of how isolated they were. No one else was in the shop, and the old building seemed to echo with the sound of his words.

      Don’t be ferhoodled, she lectured herself. Gus might be a bit disreputable, but he certain sure wasn’t dangerous.

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