A Sister's Secret (11 page)

Grace sighed with relief. If Gary was the one responsible and the sheriff caught him, then even without her father pressing charges, she figured Gary would be hauled off to jail. That would get him out of Holmes County and away from Grace and her family. Then she would never have to worry about revealing her secret.

***

Ruth had just placed a pan of fresh cinnamon rolls into the bakery case when the bell on the front door jingled. A customer walked in. He was English—the same man she’d seen Grace talking to a few weeks ago in the restaurant parking lot. Ruth recognized his wavy red hair and the haughty way he held himself, like he thought he was something special.

The Englisher stepped up to the counter and stared at Ruth so hard it made her squirm.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, now, that all depends.” He raked his fingers through the sides of his hair, and a spicy fragrance permeated the air, causing Ruth to sneeze.

He wrinkled his nose. “Have you got a cold? Because if you do, you shouldn’t be working around food.”

“I don’t have a cold. I think I must be allergic to something.” She motioned to the glass case that separated them. “Cinnamon rolls just came from the oven. Would you like to try a sample?”

He shook his head, blinking his eyelids. “I didn’t come here for anything to eat.”

“What did you come for then?”

“I need some information.”

“If you want to know anything about the town of Berlin, the Chamber of Commerce would be your best source.”

“I’ve been there already.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “The people who work there can’t give me the kind of firsthand information I’m needing.”

She tipped her head in question.

“Personal details about the Amish who live in Holmes County and the outlying areas.” He winked at her. “I can see that you’re Amish by the way you’re dressed, so I thought you’d be a good person to ask.”

Ruth glanced over her shoulder, hoping Karen or Jake Clemons, the owners of the bakeshop, might come out of the kitchen and rescue her, but they were still busy baking in the back room.

The man extended his hand across the counter. “My name’s Gary Walker. I’m a freelance photographer and reporter. Awhile back I did a pretty big article for a new magazine called
Everyone’s World.
Have you heard of it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t read many magazines.”

“I guess the Amish newspaper is probably more your style, huh?”

“I do read
The Budget.
” Ruth glanced toward the front door, hoping another customer would come in and wishing this was Sadie’s day to work with her at the bakeshop. “If you already know some things about the Amish, why not write that?”

“I’m not interested in basic facts. I want to know what’s going on in the lives of the Amish people in this area compared to what I’ve learned about Amish settlements in other parts of the country.”

“Do people who read your stories want to know that kind of thing?”

“You’d be surprised what curious readers want to know.” Gary removed the cap of the pen with his teeth and grinned at her. “So what can you tell me—what’d you say your name was?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Ruth Hostettler.”

He started to write it down but lifted his pen and stared at her in a most peculiar way. “Say, you wouldn’t be related to Grace Hostettler, would you?”

She nodded. “Do you know my sister?”

“Let’s just say we’ve met a time or two.”

“A few weeks ago, I saw you talking to Grace in the parking lot of the restaurant where she works. Were you asking her questions about the Amish, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” His forehead wrinkled. “She didn’t tell me much, though. Not a very friendly one, that sister of yours.”

Ruth bristled.
I’m not about to tell this man anything, either.

“Have there been any attacks made against the Amish around here?”

Her mouth dropped open. She leaned against the counter, not knowing what to say. Did the man know about the break-ins at their place? Was he hoping she would give him details?

He tapped his foot and glanced around as though growing impatient. “I know of some Amish communities in other parts of the country where the Plain People have been taunted by outsiders trying to make trouble, so I wondered if anything like that has ever happened here.”

Ruth wasn’t about to give him any information, and she felt relief when another customer came into the bakeshop. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to wait on this lady.”

Gary stepped away from the counter and folded his arms. “I can wait.”

Ruth shook her head, feeling a little braver now that she wasn’t alone with the persistent man. “If you’re not here to buy baked goods, then there’s nothing more to be said.”

“Look, if it’s that little remark I made about your sister not being friendly, I’m sorry. I tend to say stupid things when I’m around pretty women.”

Ruth’s face grew hot, and she turned from Gary and focused on the English woman who had stepped up to the bakery case. “May I help you?”

“I’d like half a dozen cream puffs, two cinnamon rolls, and an angel food cake.”

“I’ll get those for you right away.”

Gary cleared his throat, and when she glanced his way again, he gave her a quick wink and sauntered out the door.

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief.
No wonder Grace didn’t want to answer that man’s questions. He’s pushy and arrogant. I hope he gets done with his stories soon and leaves Holmes County.

***

Grace drew in a deep breath and whispered a silent prayer as she carried a tray full of food out to the restaurant’s dining room. Her hands shook so badly, she didn’t know how she would make it through the day. Ever since she’d heard about her father’s shop getting broken into, she’d been a nervous wreck. She hoped Cleon would find time today to talk to her father about notifying the sheriff, and she hoped Dad would listen.

Grace gripped the tray tighter. If only they knew who was responsible for the break-ins. Could the same person who broke into their house have vandalized her father’s shop, or were they two separate incidences? Were some rowdy English boys the culprits, or could it have been Gary?

She glanced out the restaurant’s front window. No sign of the arrogant man, at least. For the last two weeks, he’d been going from shop to shop, asking people questions about the Amish and snapping pictures whenever he felt like it—even some close-up shots of Amish people. Grace knew this because some of her friends had mentioned that a redheaded Englisher with a fancy camera was nosing around. Grace figured that, after this many days, Gary should have gotten enough information to write ten articles, so it made no sense that he was still hanging around. She’d heard that he’d been seen in Walnut Creek on Saturday, taking more pictures and interviewing anyone willing to talk to him.

As Grace approached an English couple whose order she’d taken earlier, she gritted her teeth with a determination she didn’t feel and carefully set their plates of food in front of them. “Will there be anything else?”

The elderly woman smiled. “I’d like another cup of coffee, please.”

“One for me, too,” the man said with a nod.

“I’ll see to it right away.”

“Are you okay?” Esther asked as she joined Grace in front of the coffeepot moments later. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m feeling a little nervous this morning,” Grace admitted. “My daed’s shop got broken into sometime during the night, and it has us all plenty worried.”

Esther’s forehead wrinkled, and she patted Grace’s arm in a motherly fashion. “That’s terrible. I understand now why you’re shaking. You have every right to feel nervous.”

“I didn’t say anything about this before, but someone broke into our house a week ago, too,” Grace whispered.

Esther’s pale eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “How come you didn’t tell me this sooner?”

“Dad said he thought it was a one-time thing, and since nothing was taken at that time, I saw no point in mentioning it.”

“Do you have any idea who might be responsible, and do you think both incidents were done by the same person?”

“We don’t know, but Dad suspects it might be some rowdy English fellows.” Grace wasn’t about to tell Esther whom she suspected.

Esther slowly shook her head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again—to your family or to anyone else in our community.”

Grace nodded and headed back to the dining room with her customers’ coffee. Having Gary Walker back in town was hard enough to deal with. Now she had the added worry of whether another break-in would occur.

Chapter 11

“It’s good you could meet me and Ruth after work today,” Grace said to her mother as the three of them headed down the sidewalk toward the quilt shop, where a variety of fabric was sold.

Mom nodded. “I thought if we looked at some material for your wedding dress, it might take our minds off this morning’s break-in.”

“Did Dad get everything cleaned up?”

“Jah. He and Martha worked on it while Luke made some deliveries.”

Ruth pursed her lips as she slowed her steps. “I don’t suppose he changed his mind about calling the sheriff?”

“He says he will turn the other cheek, just like before.”

“What if it happens again?”

“Then we’ll have to deal with it.”

Grace clenched her fingers around the straps of her black handbag.
How do we deal with it?
She wanted to scream out the question but knew it was best to keep silent. When Ruth had met her after work, she’d mentioned that Gary had come into the bakeshop asking questions. It made Grace feel more anxious than ever. What if Gary didn’t leave Holmes County? What if he decided to stay and torment her indefinitely? What if more break-ins occurred?

“Oh, there’s Cleon’s mamm, Irene.” Mom pointed to the dark-haired Amish woman who’d just gotten out of her buggy across the street. “If the two of you would like to go inside the quilt store and start looking around, I’ll join you in a few minutes. I want to see how the Schrocks’ trip to Rexford went and speak to Irene about making some beeswax candles for your wedding.”

“Sure, Mom, we can do that,” Ruth said as the two of them moved toward the door of the shop.

Ruth nudged Grace’s arm as they began looking through some bolts of blue material. “I’m so happy for you and Cleon. I’ll bet you can hardly wait for the wedding.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Grace admitted, “but it’s hard to concentrate on wedding plans with what’s been going on lately.”

“You mean the break-ins?”

“Jah.”

“Like Dad said, maybe it won’t happen again. Maybe whoever broke into his shop got what they wanted when they stole his tools.”

Grace wished she could believe it wouldn’t happen again, but she had a terrible feeling that the break-ins were only the beginning of their troubles. If Gary had come here to make good on his threat to get even with her, then there could be more attacks. Should she tell her folks who Gary was—that she’d dated him during her rumschpringe years? Would that be enough to convince Dad that he needed to notify the sheriff?

She cringed. If she told her folks about Gary, wouldn’t that lead to more questions? Should she tell them the truth about her marriage to Wade, or would it be better to keep quiet and see what happened with Gary?

“Grace, are you listening to me?” Ruth nudged Grace’s arm again.

“Wh–what was that?”

“Do you think there will be more attacks?”

“Oh, I hope not.” Grace pulled a bolt of blue material off the rack and held it up. “I think this is the one I want.”

“Should we look for some white to make your apron now?”

“Okay.” Grace followed Ruth to the other side of the room. Several shelves near the front of the store were stocked with bolts of white material, and she glanced out the window to see if Mom was still talking to Cleon’s mother. She didn’t see any sign of either woman. “I wonder what could be taking Mom so long,” she said, turning to face her sister. “I don’t see her anywhere, and I’m getting worried.”

“She and Irene probably went into one of the other stores. You know how gabby our mamm can get whenever she’s with one of her friends.”

Grace nodded. “Jah, she does like to talk.”

“What do you think of this?” Ruth asked, as she handed a bolt of white material over to Grace.

“It’s nice, but I’d like to keep looking awhile.”

“Want me to hold it out in case you decide it’s the best one?”

“Sure.” Grace looked out the window again, and she nearly dropped the bolt of material she held when she saw her mother standing on the sidewalk talking to Gary.

“What’s wrong, Grace? Your face has gone pale as goat’s milk,” Ruth said in a tone of obvious concern.

“It ... it’s that reporter. He’s talking to Mom, and I’ve got to stop him.” Grace thrust the material into her sister’s hands and rushed out the door.