Assaulted Pretzel (17 page)

She tried to make sense of what she was hearing but remained silent when she couldn’t.

“It was my gift to Robert—the love of my life,” Ann continued in a raspy whisper.

“You gave him a company?”

Ann nodded. “My father owned a tiny toy shop when I was a little girl. He made toys in the back room and sold them up front. That store was called Karble’s Creations.”

“But Karble was your husband’s name,” Claire protested.

“No, Karble was my name,” Ann corrected, weakly. “But since I was my father’s only child, there was no one to carry on his name. So when I became serious with Robert, my father was in the process of laying out a new business plan—one that had his little shop springboarding into something much bigger. When he became ill and was faced with the little bit of time he had left, Robert agreed to take my name in marriage and realize my father’s dream. I kept a presence over the years, of course, as a nod to my father and his
friends who helped finance us at the start, but the day-to-day decisions were really for my husband to make.”

“Wow. He did an amazing job.” It was a simple statement but true, nonetheless. In fact, if Ann’s details were as accurate as she was sure they were, the details of Karble Toys’ rise to fame were nothing short of inspiring.

“Yes, yes he did.”

Claire pondered everything she’d heard thus far and then asked the first question that sprang into her thoughts. “Did you ever wish you could’ve gotten some of the public accolades your husband got along the way?”

A comfortable silence hovered between them as Ann slipped into thought. After several moments, though, Ann finally answered, the sincerity in her voice magnifying Claire’s empathy for the woman tenfold.

“Honestly, I got such tremendous enjoyment out of watching Robert succeed that it never really crossed my mind. I was so in love with him from the first moment we met that I wanted nothing but the best for him and for our lives together.” Ann began to fidget with a string on the comforter as she took a momentary pause. “Our life together was almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“I was never able to give him a child.” A long, labored sigh made its way between Ann’s trembling lips along with yet another round of heartbreaking words. “Oh, how I wanted to. More than anything, in fact. But it wasn’t to be. And now…I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.”

Bowing her head forward, Ann began to cry, the movement of her shoulders sending a gentle bounce across the bed. Claire scooted closer and silenced the fidgeting hand with one of her own. Suddenly, this woman who’d been a veritable stranger to Claire just moments earlier could just
as easily have been any one of a dozen or so friends she’d had throughout her life—people who’d touched her heart and created a lasting connection.

“I know it feels like that right now. But you will always carry a part of your husband in your heart,” she said between soothing noises. “No one can ever take that away from you.”

One sniffle was followed by another and still another, but, eventually, Ann’s shoulders began to steady. “I…I know that. I…I just know I’m going to miss looking into his eyes every morning.” Working her sleeve over her hand, the woman wiped at the tears that continued to stream down her face, her words coming between little bursts of calm. “They were the most brilliant green I’ve ever seen. Every time I looked at them, I felt at peace. And I always knew I wanted our child to have those same eyes.”

Claire tried to think of something to say but came up empty. Instead, she simply draped her arm across Ann’s shoulders and pulled her in for a quick side embrace.

“Now they’re gone and the only reason they’re gone is because we came here. To Amish country. To enter into a partnership Rob never should’ve
considered
, let alone try to ink. I mean, when he first told me about his idea over coffee one night, I could see the appeal. Parents and grandparents like the idea of sharing a simpler time with their kids. But, in the long run, all the kids really want is to play with whatever the latest and greatest is at any given moment. Is that sad? Maybe. But it’s reality and any businessman worth his salt knows the bottom line is rooted in reality.” Slowly but surely, the tears dried, the mounting disbelief in Ann’s voice now mirrored in her eyes. “But all Robert could see was that silly little toy he kept messing with all the time. And no matter what I said to try and get through to him, he just didn’t seem to get it.”

The words streamed from Ann’s mouth now as disbelief became tinged with anger. “
Wooden toys?
He wanted to make
wooden toys
? So
make
wooden toys! You don’t need the
Amish
to do that. And a man who made the kind of millions Robert did over the past twenty years was smart enough to know that.”

Her tirade over, Ann’s shoulders lurched forward in utter exhaustion. “I just don’t get it,” she whispered. “I mean,
why
? Why did he go down this road? Because nothing—no desire for simplicity, no harebrained idea, no stupid little toy—was worth losing the love of my life.”

Once again, Claire was left with nothing to say because Ann had said it all.

I
f Claire closed her eyes and concentrated solely on the faint sounds coming from the windows around her, she could almost pretend all was well. How else could one explain the happy chatter coming from Doug and Kayla Jones as they perused the literary offerings in the parlor? How else could one explain the noises from Room One that suggested Wayne and Virginia Granderson were preparing to retire for the evening once their teeth were brushed and a suitable program had been found on their in-room television?

Yet even as she rested her head against the back of the porch swing and did her best to let its gentle sway calm her, she knew things weren’t at all as they sounded.

Ann Karble’s room, on the other end of the porch, was pitch-black, the absence of anything resembling life on the other side of the closed curtain a testament to the deep
depression that had kept the woman from eating dinner and engaging in any further conversation.

Upstairs, hidden away behind the one unnumbered room in the inn, was Diane, a woman whose smile had stopped short of her eyes ever since the Karbles’ room had been ransacked. No matter what Claire tried to tell her, no matter how often Jakob relinquished her from all responsibility, Aunt Diane was still convinced she bore the ultimate blame for the crime.

Down the road in Amish country, things weren’t okay for Sarah Lapp, either. And while Claire couldn’t be sure what the expectant mother was doing at that moment, she knew it was being done with a heavy heart. How could it not be when you were afraid your husband was involved in a murder?

Not far from that farmhouse was the one where Martha lived. Like Sarah, Martha was also concerned for Daniel Lapp. But Martha’s fear didn’t stop there. It ran one step further—to her younger brother. In turn,
that
stress had led to a decision that—if discovered—could result in disciplinary measures from the Amish community.

She stared out at the darkness just beyond the porch railing and tried to focus on the parts of her day that had been good. But try as she might, there were simply too many thoughts and too many worries moving through her head to get any real peace out of Esther’s smile or the brief alone-time she’d shared with Jakob at the pond.

People she cared about were hurting. Some, terribly. How could she truly expect the sights and sounds of a near-sleeping Heavenly to wield its usual sleep-inducing magic?

In two words, she couldn’t.

But, sooner or later, she’d have to sleep. If she didn’t she’d be useless at the shop, the inn, and to any of her friends who might need her help. The problem, though, was finding the
energy to stop the swing, stand on her feet, and head upstairs to her room.

The
clip-clop
of an approaching horse, however, had her glancing at her wrist and turning it so as to read the time in the muted glow of the porch light.

Ten forty-five…

Much too late for someone from the Amish community to be out and about, that was for sure.

Bracing her foot against the floor, Claire brought the swing to a stop, the outline of the now-parked buggy alongside the inn setting her nerves on edge. Something was wrong. It had to be…

A tall figure jumped down from the driver’s seat and made its way around the buggy, the man’s straw hat and hunched shoulders shielding his face from view.

“Hello?” she called out, rising to her feet as she did. “Who’s there?”

Less than a second later, the man stepped into the light and tilted his head ever so slightly in her direction, the butterflies his presence sent up in her stomach supplying his name before her eyes could offer their confirmation. “Ben. Hi…Is—is everything okay?”

“Yah. But I am not here to talk of me. I am here to see you. To know that you are okay.”

She took a half step, half stumble backward. “Me? But, I don’t understand.”

He took the steps of the porch with ease and gestured toward the swing. “Will you sit with me, Claire?”

When she hesitated, he took her hand and gently guided her toward the swing, the unfamiliar feel of his hand on hers making her more than a little light-headed. “I don’t understand,” she repeated. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now? I know your day starts very early…”

“I could not sleep. I thought only of what Esther said when she came by Mamm and Dat’s house to bring Eli a plate of cookies.”

She willed herself to focus on something other than the feel of his thigh alongside hers as the swing began to sway beneath them. “Esther?”

“Yah. She told of your worry and your sadness at the shop this afternoon. She said you did not smile.”

She felt her face drain of all color. “She told your parents that?”

“No. She told only me.” He studied her closely, the tenderness in his eyes every bit as real as his simple black suspenders. “So please, Claire, won’t you tell me what is troubling you? I know I am Amish and that I do not understand everything about your world, but I do have good ears.”

“I’m fine, Benjamin. Really. I was just tired today.” She ran her hand along the swing’s armrest, breathing in the clean night air as she did. “Which is exactly what I told Esther, too.”

“Yah. But she believes it is more, and I do, too.”

She pulled her hand back to her lap. “I was going to head in to bed in a few minutes. I just wanted a little more fresh air.”

“If you were so tired it took away your smile, you would be asleep at this moment.”

“And you?” she proposed. “What would you have done if that were the case?”

Benjamin turned his head to look out at his horse, the gentle breeze that lifted her hair unable to reach his beneath the rim of his hat. After several long moments, he looked back at Claire. “I would take the buggy home and look for tomorrow to come.”

She didn’t need access to a mirror to know his words had brought a flush to her face. Nor did she need the tremble in her hands to know they were treading in dangerous water.

Benjamin was Amish.

She wasn’t.

Those two facts, coupled together, were enough to make her stop the swing and rise to her feet, the need to walk around the porch as much about self-sanity as anything else. Yet even as she walked, she could feel the weight of his eyes as they followed her to the front railing.

“I guess I just have a lot of things on my mind is all.” There, she said it. Lifting her chin to the breeze, Claire took a deep breath then let it release slowly. “It’s been a long week.”

“Tell me. I will listen.”

She blinked away the sudden burn that meant tears were near. There were times, when she was busy at the shop or engaged in her day-to-day life, that she actually saw her failed marriage to Peter as a distant memory. And other times, the heartbreak was still so raw it was hard to believe so much time had passed.

Having a man like Benjamin care about her feelings had her walking a fine line between the two. Because while she was grateful for his genuine concern, it also left her wondering how her own husband could have been so uninterested in everything about her and her life.

“Please, Claire. I will listen,” he repeated.

Slowly, she turned her back to the distant fields and leaned against the railing, the words coming slowly at first. “I’m worried about Aunt Diane. She seems to think what happened in the Karbles’ room is all about a shortcoming at the inn. And it’s not. Whoever killed Mr. Karble was
looking for something in that room and they’d have gotten in no matter what kind of security measures she may or may not have had in place.

“I’ve told her it’s not her fault, most of the guests have told her it’s not her fault, and even Jakob has told her it’s not her fault. Yet she doesn’t seem to be able to shake this disappointment she has in herself. And, Benjamin? It’s painful to watch.”

“One day soon she will see.”

Oh, how she wished she shared even a tenth of Benjamin’s optimism…

“What else?” he asked. At her furrowed brows, he rephrased. “What else has taken your smile away?”