Gathering Shadows (2 page)

“Don't see why I pulled this project.”

Stuck in a car for two hours with a petulant photog was pure torture. Zac had only been with the station for a couple of months, so there hadn't been much time to get to know him. Unfortunately, I was learning a lot more than I wanted to. From the time he'd crawled into my car, he'd done nothing but talk about himself. He was only a year younger than I, but he reminded me of a rebellious teenager.

“Maybe you'll end up enjoying this,” I said, fairly sure he wouldn't. “You moved to Missouri six months ago. This will give you an insider's view.”

He raised one eyebrow and let his jaw drop. “Inside of what?” he said finally. “Back roads, roadkill, and wild boars?” He snorted. “I'm more interested in the nightlife in St. Louis. This is
definitely
not why I came to Missouri. How far away is this place from St. Louis anyway?”

“Almost ninety miles south. If you're thinking you can run back and forth to the city from Sanctuary, forget it. You're stuck, so you might as well make the best of it,” I said, trying to keep
my temper in check. “You'll get lots of assignments you don't like. It's the nature of our jobs.”

He reached up and turned the rearview mirror toward himself and checked his image.

“There's a mirror on the back of your sun visor,” I said.

He shrugged and pushed the rearview mirror back toward me. While I moved it back into place, he flipped his sun visor down and stared at himself. He looked carefully at his hair, which I found odd, since he'd pulled it all back into a ponytail. What was there to fix?

“I don't see why we have to go to this . . . Sanctuary place first,” he said as he put the visor up. “We've already passed several of the towns on your list.”

“I explained it to you once.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stay calm. “Research is easy with these other places, but there's nothing about Sanctuary online. It's the one town we'll have to investigate ourselves. Boots on the ground.”

“Boots on the ground?” he repeated. “What are you, ex-military?”

I shook my head. “No, my dad was. He used the expression a lot. Guess I picked it up.”

“Wow, he must be fun at holiday meals.”

“I have no idea. He divorced my mom when I was sixteen. A year after that he got a new family. Guess they meant more to him than I did. We don't talk much anymore.”

Zac didn't respond. Just yawned and looked out the window.

Why had I said that? I never talked about my personal life. Besides, Zac was the last person I wanted in my business.

“It doesn't matter anymore.” I shrugged. “I don't even think about him. My mom's been mother and father to me ever since he remarried. He's not important.”

“Uh-huh.”

At first his rude tone irritated me, but I didn't really care what Zac Weikal's opinion was . . . about anything. All I wanted to do was get to Sanctuary. I needed to find this kid who looked so much like Ryan. In my gut, I was certain once I saw him up close, I'd know he wasn't my brother. Yet something inside pushed me forward. My family had never had closure. Ryan's disappearance had been the catalyst that ended my parents' marriage—and destroyed my family. I had to follow this lead. Had to know the truth.

“Are we going to check into the hotel first?” Zac asked. “I'd like some time to chill out.”

“No, we're meeting someone in Sanctuary. A lady named Martha Kirsch. She runs the library. I called her and set up an appointment. I hope she'll help us get the story we need.”

“Mennonites read?”

“There are all kinds of Mennonites. In fact, John Traylor, the evening news anchor? He's Mennonite.”

“But he doesn't wear a funny hat or anything. Hey, and he's on TV? I thought these people didn't watch TV.”

“You're talking about Old Order or Conservative Mennonites. A lot of them don't. Sounds like Sanctuary is made up of all kinds of people. Some of them don't belong to the Mennonite Church at all. According to Martha, the one thing residents in Sanctuary have in common is that they're all looking for a more uncomplicated life.” I let out a deep sigh. “I can understand how they feel.”

“Oh, come on. You? You seem like a city girl, and you're a bulldog at work. Everyone knows you'll end up in the anchor chair one of these days.”

His statement surprised me. “What? Are people talking about me?”

He shrugged. “Don't get offended. It's just that you act so . . . driven. It's obvious.”

“Maybe so.”

My GPS warned me that a turn was ahead, so I concentrated on watching the road. Zac was right. I did feel driven. Sometimes I wondered why. I loved the energy at work, but once I left the station, I sought peace and quiet. I spent my time reading and even did some writing—something I didn't admit to anyone. Sitting in my favorite chair with my feet up and writing on my laptop with Mr. Henderson, my cat, snuggled up next to me brought me the feeling of tranquility I craved. Over the past year, my social life had slowed to a crawl. And that's the way I liked it.

Zac suddenly let out a long and prolonged sigh. “I hate being around religious people.”

I glanced over at him and frowned. “You knew we were going to a Mennonite town, right? I don't need you coming across as antagonistic with these people. Why did you take this assignment?”

He shrugged again and looked out the window. I toyed with the idea of turning around, taking him back to the station, and getting someone else. But Ed would expect me to get this situation under control.

“Look, Zac, I have no idea why you don't like religious people, and frankly, I don't care. But I expect you to act professionally while we're in Sanctuary. Can you do that?”

He turned back toward me. “Not a problem. I filmed those nut jobs from Kansas when they protested at the funeral of a soldier. I wanted to grab them one by one and bash their heads in, but I didn't. I kept my cool. If I can handle them, I can deal with people running around in goofy clothes, acting like they're better than me.”

I had to smile. “No one wanted to beat those Kansas jerks more than I did, but I don't understand why you have an attitude about people in Sanctuary. People you haven't even met yet.”

“Religion is something men made up so they'd feel better. A fantasy designed to make us think there's something more to life than there really is.”

I checked the GPS again. We were still a couple of miles from our turnoff. “Okay, but I still don't get it. What if someone wants to believe there's more to life than what we see every day. It's their business, right? They're not hurting us.”

“It's not that. No skin off my nose if they want to believe a lie.”

I took my eyes off the road long enough to stare at him. His jaw was working furiously. Obviously the subject of religion was a hot-button topic for him.

I turned my attention back to the highway. “You didn't answer my question,” I said bluntly.

“It's personal. I have my reasons. Can we just leave it like that?”

“Sure, as long as you don't cop an attitude in Sanctuary. I need these people to be . . . cooperative.”

“So what do you think will happen when the new station owners take over?” Zac asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“I have no idea. I think Leon and Ed have more to worry about than we do. I
am
concerned about our anchors though. Almost every time someone new takes over a station, they think they need to empty the anchor chairs. We have a good team. I'd hate to see any of them leave.”

“I overheard someone say you could end up taking Cindy's place at five and six.”

The car swerved a bit, and I slowed down. Before I could
respond, the GPS voice announced it was time for a right turn. I turned accordingly and then turned again. It was as if civilization disappeared once we left the highway. Dense trees lined both sides of a narrow two-lane road. I could see a few houses, but they sat back a long way, surrounded by trees and foliage.

“What are you talking about?” I asked finally, once I was certain we were headed in the right direction. “Who said that?”

“A couple of reporters were discussing it. Have no idea where they got the information.”

I forced myself to concentrate on my driving. According to my GPS, the last turn to Sanctuary was only 1.8 miles away. I pushed down a tickle of exhilaration. Ed hadn't said a word about it to me. Before I got too excited though, I had to consider the source. Overhearing office gossip wasn't really reliable. Just as quickly as the rush of euphoria came, it left. I couldn't trust this information. Besides, I liked Cindy Drake. She was always nice to me and had gone out of her way to help me when I first came to the station. It was true that she was getting a little older, but she was dedicated, thorough, and extremely professional. In my heart, I believed the station would be making a grave mistake if they let her go. As much as I wanted to anchor the news, I didn't want to see Cindy lose her job.

I suddenly realized Zac was waiting for some kind of response.

“I'm not comfortable talking about this,” I said. “And I'm not going to hope someone like Cindy gets fired.”

Zac grunted. “Without the killer instinct, you could get eaten alive. Tough business, you know.”

I kept quiet, but his words echoed through my head. Did I have any “killer instinct”? Did I even want it? The idea of being an
evening news anchor was all I'd ever hoped for, but now, when the reality got a little too close, the prospect made me feel uneasy.

“Looks like you've got a call,” Zac said, staring at my cell phone, which was in a holder mounted on my dashboard.

I glanced down. Sure enough, the light was flashing. I'd forgotten and left it on silent again. I'd missed a call from the station. I quickly picked up the phone. With one hand, I entered my voicemail code while I kept my other hand on the wheel. Then I put the phone up to my ear.

“Wynter, this is Ed. I thought you said you cleared this story with the muckety-mucks in . . . what was it? Sanctuary? We just fielded several calls from some religious nuts who are extremely upset we want to film their little backwater hole in the ground. Forget 'em. I don't need the headache. You've got lots of other towns to visit. See you in ten days.”

“Nine days,” I mumbled under my breath. I slipped my phone back into its holder.

“Anything important?” Zac asked.

“Nope. Not at all.”

I slowed down when I saw the sign pointing to Sanctuary. As I took the turn, the butterflies in my stomach morphed into condors.

“Might as well tell you right off that some people in Sanctuary aren't happy you're here.”

Martha Kirsch stared at us over the rims of her narrow glasses. Everything about Martha was narrow. Her face, her long nose, her body. Even her eyes narrowed as she looked us over.

“I don't understand,” I said. “What changed since I talked to you the other day? You seemed excited that we were coming. You said you wanted a chance to share your town's history.”

“I . . . I
was
excited. But then word got out, and everyone started complaining.”

I pointed at the large front window in the small library. “I see horses and buggies, but there are also quite a few cars. Obviously not all of your population is Old Order or Conservative. So why would
everyone
be opposed to our story?”

She shook her head, and the chains attached to her glasses jangled. “This town is very special—to everyone who lives here.” She sniffed, something she'd done more than once since Zac and I entered the building. Although the library looked clean, there was a musty smell. The building was old. Probably built in the
1800s. The aroma of an ancient building combined with old books could have been distasteful, but not to me. It reminded me of the library back home in Chicago where I'd grown up. I'd loved that library, frittering away many happy hours wandering through the aisles. There were tables where patrons could sit and read, but I spent my time sitting cross-legged on the floor next to tall shelves full of books. No one seemed to mind, and I was never asked to move. The library workers understood the lure of a good story and the magic of finding just the right spot to tuck oneself away to read.

“Just who is it that doesn't want us here, Mrs. Kirsch?”

Another sniff. “That's
Miss
Kirsch, thank you. Most of our residents are Mennonite, although there are only a few families that shun electricity and automobiles. Still, they don't like being in the spotlight. And then there are the others.”

“The others? What others?”

The woman took a deep breath and scowled at me over her glasses. “Some people come here because . . . because they need privacy. They don't want to be photographed. I shouldn't have told you to come. I was wrong.”

Martha's attitude was beginning to grate on my nerves. “Look, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this visit. I intend to stay.”

She rubbed her arms as if cold, but the inside of the library was almost as warm as the air outside.

“I must apologize for Martha.” A deep voice boomed from behind me, and I turned around to find a man staring at me. I immediately thought of a young Ewan McGregor. Blue eyes, cleft chin, a stubbly beard, and shaggy dishwater-blond hair streaked with golden highlights. He was dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white checked shirt. His bronzed skin obviously didn't
come from a tanning salon. His resemblance to one of my favorite actors made me gulp with surprise. I'd had a crush on McGregor ever since he'd played a young Obi Wan-Kenobi in the
Star Wars
saga. Who'd have thought I'd meet Obi Wan in a small Missouri Mennonite town?

“I don't need you to apologize for me, Reuben King,” Martha said, accenting her words with another sniff. “You might be our mayor, but I think I can speak for myself.”

“I'm sure you can, Martha,” he said soothingly. “But telling a visitor they're not welcome doesn't do much to promote hospitality, does it?”

Even though Reuben was much younger than the aged librarian, she seemed to wither under his light reproach.

“I . . . I'm sorry,” she said, directing her attention to me. “I don't mean to be difficult.” Although her words sounded conciliatory, her expression relayed a very different message.

“I understand. Please be assured that we'll be very respectful to the residents of Sanctuary. We're not here to intrude. We think your town is unique. I'm sure no one knows more about its history than you. I hope you'll allow us to interview you, Martha.”

Looking somewhat mollified, the librarian's eyes darted back and forth between the mayor and me.

Reuben smiled. “Thank you, Miss . . .”

“Evans. Wynter Evans,” I said quickly. My cheeks felt hot, and I hoped with every fiber of my being that my face wasn't red.

“Nice to meet you, Wynter.” He looked questioningly at Zac. To be honest, I'd forgotten Zac was even in the room.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “This is Zac Weikal. He's my photog. I mean, photographer.”

Reuben stuck his hand out. “Glad to meet you, Zac.”

After shaking hands, Reuben smiled widely at both of us.

“Now tell me what I can do to help you.”

The chastised Miss Kirsch slunk away toward her desk. Frankly, I was relieved and thankful that Reuben had some influence over the cranky librarian.

“Actually, we'd love to talk to you,” I said. “Find out more about Sanctuary. Maybe visit with some of your residents. I realize not everyone will want to be on camera.”

Reuben nodded. “That's true. I must ask you not to take or publish videos or pictures without the permission of the people involved. If you'll agree to that, I don't think anyone will have a problem with your presence here. And that applies to all of our residents, not just the Mennonites.”

“I thought only Old Order Mennonites avoided having their picture taken.”

“There aren't many Old Order Mennonites left. Most of the Mennonites in Sanctuary are conservative. They live simply, but almost everyone here uses electricity. You'll see some horses and buggies, but the large majority of our people drive cars and trucks. You'll find a mix of lifestyles and beliefs here.”

I frowned at him. “I guess I'm not seeing much difference between Sanctuary and any other small town.”

When Reuben laughed, his eyes sparkled. Anyway, I think they did. I felt like a silly schoolgirl in his presence instead of the confident professional I believed myself to be. I shook myself mentally.
Get a grip, Wynter, before you
make a fool of yourself.

“I think we're rather special, but why don't we talk more over dinner?” He glanced at his watch. “It's a little after three. Where are you staying?”

“The Mountain Inn in Fredericktown.”

He frowned. “That's quite a drive. Why don't you stay here?”

Zac made a coughing sound. I knew staying in Sanctuary was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I looked for motels closer, but I couldn't find any.”

“Esther Lapp has a big house on the edge of town. Since her children moved out, she's all alone. I'm sure she'd love to put you up. Esther's lived in Sanctuary all her life and was raised Old Order. She'd be a wealth of information for your story.”

“I don't know,” Zac said slowly. “I need electricity. And a TV.”

Reuben grinned. “Esther has electricity. Can't help you with the TV though. Esther won't have one in her house.”

I held my hand up before Zac could voice another objection. “We're not here to watch television. I think your suggestion sounds wonderful. I'll call the motel and cancel our reservations. Of course, we expect to pay Esther for her hospitality.”

“Then you'll have a problem on your hands,” Reuben said. “Esther wouldn't think about taking a dime of your money. She loves company.”

“The motel in Fredericktown will charge us for a day,” Zac interjected. “You won't be giving them twenty-four hours' notice.”

“No big deal. Overall, we'll save money.” When he started to complain again, I gave him my best withering look. Although I had no idea how threatening it actually was, it seemed to do the trick. Zac's mouth snapped shut, but his pouty expression stayed firmly in place.

I walked over to Martha's desk and thanked her for her help. She barely acknowledged me, giving me an almost imperceptible nod. It didn't bother me. It was clear Reuben was going to be a much better source of information anyway. He called Esther while I contacted our hotel. I had to step outside to get a decent cell phone signal. By the time I had enough juice to attempt my call, I was well out into the road. Several people passing
by stared at me curiously. I wondered how many visitors they actually got in Sanctuary.

The manager at the hotel was extremely nice and canceled the reservation without charging me anything. That would keep Ed happy. I'd just turned off my cell phone and was preparing to go back inside the library when a buggy pulled up next to me and a young man got out. He looked like an older version of my brother, Ryan. Our eyes met, but there was no recognition in his expression. He smiled briefly and then turned to help an older woman out of the carriage.

“I'll pick you up in an hour, Mother,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Elijah,” she said with a smile.

I stood there in shock. I'd been in town only a short time and had already met the person I'd come here to see. I watched as the woman walked up the steps and went into the library. Then I turned back to see the young man get into the buggy and ride off. The love between them was evident. That boy didn't look like someone who had been kidnapped and held against his will. Had I made a mistake in coming here? Was I risking my job on a wild-goose chase? A voice in my head told me to get out of Sanctuary. But another one whispered that I should stay. I decided to listen to the second voice.