Trusting The Sheriff. Janice Kay Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ lounge in bed when she ought to be offering to help with daily chores. Still, donning a dress worn without a bra and fastened by straight pins rather than zippers and buttons felt like a huge effort. She managed, but gasped a few times when her healing wounds protested as she stretched too much. And her head... Would it ever stop pounding?

      Dismayed by how weak she felt, she sat again on the edge of her bed to brush her hair, careful to avoid the still-painful lump, and bundle the mass into a bun she covered with the kapp. Of course, she couldn’t check her appearance in a mirror; vanity was not encouraged by the Amish, probably why she’d never wasted much time worrying about her looks. In college she’d tried wearing makeup, but felt uncomfortable, not like herself at all, and had thrown it all away.

      When she reached the first floor, Aenti Nancy popped out of the kitchen, exclaiming, “You should have stayed in bed! You have no color in your face.” She shook her head. “Ah, well, you’re this far. Komm, komm. You must have something to eat, feel better then, ain’t so?”

      Abby trailed her into the kitchen.

      “Sit,” her aunt ordered. “Tea?”

      Abby actually had switched to coffee on an everyday basis, since it was nearly impossible to get a decent cup of tea at the station or a convenience store when she was patrolling, but she always reverted when home.

      “Ja,” she said in Deitsch, better known as Pennsylvania Dutch even though it was actually a Germanic dialect. “Denke. But I can get it...”

      Aenti Nancy flapped her apron at her. “It’s too soon. You must sit, let us take care of you. So good it is to have you home.”

      Abby felt her smile wobble. “It is good to be here. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in. I didn’t know where else to go.”

      “Always,” her aunt said simply, good enough not to ask about Abby’s father. “Did Rose tell you she plans to name her girl baby for you?”

      “No. Oh, my.” An unexpected emotional response sweeping over her, Abby imagined holding a baby girl, her namesake, blinking up at her, her cheeks rosy.

      Aenti Nancy set a plate heaped with pancakes in front of her. Within moments, she added butter and syrup as well as a bowl of applesauce and a giant sweet roll, as if Abby could possibly eat so much.

      Made-from-scratch pancakes were so much better than anything she got at chain restaurants, and the butter was real, the syrup made from blueberries grown here on the farm. The sweet roll, still warm from the oven, Abby could only call heavenly. Even so, the best she could do was a few bites, earning her a chiding from her aunt.

      Sipping tea, she watched her aunt work, dashing between the pantry and the stove, occasionally trotting down to the cellar for jars of fruit or vegetables she’d preserved herself. Since her youngest daughter, Sarah, had married and moved out, Aenti Nancy was alone to cook and manage the house. Of the two sons still at home, one was only sixteen, the other, Isaac, in his early twenties, as yet unmarried.

      She did allow Abby to string and snap green beans for the midday meal, and rinse marionberries before they went into a pie. Then she conceded that Abby could step out on the back porch and ring the bell to summon the men.

      Onkel Eli, Isaac and lanky, shy Joshua came in the back door, hung their broad-brimmed hats on hooks just inside and went to the sink to wash their hands before sitting down at the long table. Aenti Nancy had what always seemed to Abby to be an enormous midday meal all ready. But Amish men and women alike did hard physical labor almost from the moment they rose in the morning, and needed the calories.

      They all bowed their heads in silent prayer before beginning to dish up. Like a swarm of locusts, the men emptied serving dishes piled with mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and applesauce, while the fried chicken and sourdough biscuits disappeared as fast. Still full from her abundant breakfast, Abby only nibbled. The marionberry pie met the same fate as the rest of the meal.

      With a few words of thanks, the men went back to work. Her aunt rejected her offer to help clear the table or wash dishes, suggesting she ought to nap.

      “I’ve been in bed for a week,” she protested. “I might go sit out on the porch swing, or lie on the grass in the shade beneath the tree.”

      Aenti Nancy smiled. “Ja, that is a good idea. I remember as a girl seeing many things in the clouds as they floated in the sky. Castles and galloping horses and ships with full sails. All foolishness, but fun.”

      “Me, too. I haven’t done that in a long time.” Since she was a child, here at the farm.

      Her aunt gave her a speaking look. “Then go.”

      This early September day had to be in the nineties, but a faint breeze stirred the leaves of the red maple tree rising close enough to the house to shade the front porch for a few hours of the day. Abby lowered herself slowly to the lawn right at the edge of the shade. The grass felt stiff beneath her hands. She brushed it back and forth, enjoying the texture. An apartment dweller now, when had she last sat on the grass? After a minute, she did lie back and gaze up at the canopy of leaves just starting to be tinged with autumn colors.

      The sun blazed, and the sky was an arch of blue without a cloud for her to turn into a fantasy castle. Somehow, she didn’t mind. Just lying here felt good. Except...her mind kept wanting to nudge at the dark wall separating her from important memories, like a tongue irresistibly drawn to poke at a loose tooth.

      She pushed gently at the wall. It didn’t so much as quiver. Ran at it and bounced painfully off, leaving her brain feeling bruised.

      Wincing, she told herself to quit. The doctor had said her memories would come in their own time.

      Aenti would have any number of biblical quotes to chide her for her impatience. In fact, one popped into her head.

      This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. Psalms 118. That couldn’t be more fitting, she decided, relaxing.

      The sun began to creep over her. She ought to move. As fair-skinned as she was, she’d burn. But the heat had made her sleepy. She drifted, aware of distant voices, where her uncle and cousins worked, the bang of the screen on the back door closing once, the darting movement of a squirrel scuttling up the maple. Birds calling, and was that the buzz of a cicada? Her eyelids sank closed.

      The sound of an approaching car, its throaty engine and the crunch of gravel beneath its tires, disrupted the utter peace of the afternoon. Abby pried open her eyes and rolled her head on the grass to see the long driveway. It wasn’t as if cars didn’t sometimes come down this road. Amish had Englisch friends, or at least acquaintances. Customers for their businesses. During their rumspringa, or running-around time, teenagers could take advantage of the freedom to ride in cars, and even use cell phones. This might be a friend of Joshua’s.

      It was actually a big, black SUV that turned into the Kemp driveway. Too large and expensive for any teenager to be driving, surely. Abby sat up, then wished she hadn’t. She’d rather be unnoticed by this visitor. Left to her peace.

      But instead of proceeding toward the huge, German-style barn, as the driver would have if he’d had business with her uncle, the SUV stopped closest to the house. A man got out on the far side of it and walked around to the front bumper.

      A police officer, she saw with a jolt, tall, well built, his hair brown. He wore dark СКАЧАТЬ