Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio (26 page)

“Bring the suitcases in, son,” his father said, “and we’ll all get caught up.”

Darren sauntered back to the car.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Joe said. “I never dreamed you would just pick up and come.”

“I’ve wanted to make amends since Grace’s death. I saw it in the papers. Yes, even in Africa we get news. But then you disappeared and I had no idea how to contact you.”

“I almost called you a dozen times. It’s been so hard, Dad.”

“I know.”

“I understand now—”

“It was wrong of me to—” His father spoke at exactly the same time.

“You first,” Joe said.

His father nodded. “Yes, I’ll go first. I am the one most in need of apologizing. It was wrong of me to ask you to give up something you loved so much. I did it for selfish reasons. I knew that once you started playing pro ball, you’d never come back to us. And with your mother gone, I could hardly bear to have you so far away. Once you made your decision, I was so hurt that I just clammed up. Your mother would say it was my hardheaded Mattias blood coming out.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong to try to stop me, Dad. I got into some weird stuff for a while.”

“But you stopped. I’ve read everything about you I could find.”

“I had to clean up my act once Bobby was born. When I held that little boy in my arms, I knew I had to grow up and be a real father to him. I could no longer spend my life partying.”

“Come on, now. You did more than just party. You saved three villages from drought with the wells you paid to have drilled.” Robert put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You sent truckloads of food when some of my people were starving.”

“You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Your brother told me.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Darren isn’t good about keeping secrets—unless they’re his own.” His dad craned his neck to peer over Joe’s shoulder. “Where is this grandson I’ve been longing to meet?”

“With friends, for now.”

Joe explained the situation to his father as he led him into the home. He decided he would put Darren in Bobby’s room for the night. His dad he would give the other twin bed in his own room. There was so much he wanted to tell his father, preferably without Darren listening. They could talk long into the night and make up for lost time.

“Ten years we went without speaking,” Joe said two hours later. His hands were laced behind his head as he lay in bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling.

“Your mother would not have been pleased.”

“She would have knocked our heads together. I miss her.”

“As do I.”

“I loved Grace, but she wasn’t like Mom.”

“I’m sorry I never met her.”

“You would have liked her. Beneath the makeup and the glamour, she was just a little girl playing dress-up. But she was a good mother to Bobby and supportive of me. She wanted me to contact you and apologize. I wish I had.”

“Me too.”

Somehow that answer rankled. His father could have just as easily contacted him. “I didn’t disown you, Dad. It was the other way around, remember?”

“You were always my son. I never stopped loving you. I had nothing against you playing ball—except for it taking you away from us and from God—but I was terrified of the kind of lifestyle you started living. I was afraid it would destroy you.”

“It almost did.”

“The only weapons I had to fight with were my prayers and the threat of withdrawing from our relationship. You were my prodigal son, and I had to let you go. Remember that story? It used to be one of your favorites.”

Joe turned on his side, facing his father. “I wasn’t quite down to eating pig slop, but I was pretty close when the Troyer sisters took me in.”

“I’m grateful they didn’t let it come to that.”

“I remember how the father ran to greet his prodigal son when he saw him from afar off. Now that I have Bobby, I can understand how that father must have felt.”

“Then you must know how I felt when you called.”

“You came running to me.”

“Yes. I came running to you.”

“Even though I’d broken your heart.”

“No. Because I knew
your
heart was broken.”

Joe absorbed that. “How long can you stay, Dad?”

There was a long silence.

“How long would you like for me to stay?” his dad asked.

“Forever?”

His father chuckled in the darkness. “We’ll see.”

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see the stars out that window?”

“I can. Did you make them?”

“Nope.” Joe grinned. “I didn’t make them.”

“Me neither. I wonder who did.”

“God?” Joe said the same thing he’d said so many years ago. Only this time, he knew there was nothing childish about his answer.

“Do you suppose He made them so that a father and son could look into the sky and know how much God loves them?”

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it, Dad.” Joe felt the same warmth and security in his father’s presence that he had known as a small child. “I’m absolutely certain of it.”

The husky whisper came in the middle of the night.

“You’re next.” A sarcastic, muffled voice drifted from the telephone.

Rachel, half asleep, rolled over to check her caller ID. It was blocked. “Who is this?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

What movie did the caller get
that
from?
she wondered. She checked the illuminated alarm clock. It was 2 a.m.

“What do you want?” She lay back against her pillows and yawned. Ugly calls in the middle of the night weren’t the norm, but she’d gotten a few in her career. It went with the territory. She had arrested some real jerks in her time. Some liked to make phone calls when they got out of jail—and usually while stoned or drunk.

The next sentence made her sit straight up.

“Stay away from Micah,” the disguised voice said. “This is a warning.”

A chill went down her spine. Was this the voice of Grace’s killer?

“What do you want?” Rachel gripped the receiver tighter.

“You heard me. Stay away from Micah.”

The caller hung up.

Well.
She tried to shake it off but knew she would be getting no more sleep that night. Perhaps she would go to the hospital and check on Eli. One of the good things about being a cop was that even though it was after hours, she knew they would let her in.

The morning sun was unusually bright, but Joe and his father had lain awake so long talking, he was too sleepy to get out of bed and close the blinds. He pulled a pillow over his face to block out the sunlight.

Wait a minute.
Had he slept through milking Eli’s cows? He sat upright, trying to get his bearings. He glanced at the clock—only 4 a.m. Something was terribly wrong. The light streaming through his window was not the sun—it was an inferno.

The aunts’ farmhouse was on fire!

He jumped out of bed, shook his father awake, and pounded on his brother’s door—yelling at Darren to get up and get out. As his father called the fire department, Joe ran outside, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt.

The fire was worse than he could have imagined. The whole back of the house was aflame, the blackened bones of the structure visible through the fire.

Were the aunts still inside?

The heat was so intense that he had to shield his face with his arm as he ran toward the burning house.

He heard a muffled scream and looked up. There, inside a front upstairs window, were two figures, one of whom was struggling to open the window.

He leaped onto the banister and muscled his way onto the porch roof, using a metal trellis for a toehold. Once on the roof, he ripped his T-shirt over his head and made his way to the window. Lydia’s face was ashen in the moonlight as she clawed at the window, trying to open it. The sound of a house going up in flames crackled all around him. Anna had gone blank-faced at the danger, unable to deal with or process what to do.

He wound his T-shirt around his arm and elbow. Lydia, seeing what he intended to do, put her arms around Anna and took a step backward. Joe shattered the double panes of glass with his padded elbow. Shielding his hands the best he could with the cloth, he ripped the remaining shards of glass away.

“Take her!” Lydia shouted, helping her sister through the window first.

Joe held Anna around the waist as he led her to the edge of the roof. The metal roof was slick with dew, but their bare feet gave them some traction.

“Over here!” his father called. His face peered over the roof near the trellis. “I found a ladder. Give her to me.”

Joe’s dad wasn’t young but he was still a powerful man, and Joe was grateful his father was there. Briefly, he wondered why his brother wasn’t helping.

He had no idea how frightened Anna was or what this experience might do to her weak heart. He took her face in his two hands and looked her in the eyes.

“My father will help you down the ladder. You can trust him. Okay?”

She gulped. “’kay.”

“You’ll need to turn backward. When you get to the edge, I’ll be holding onto you.”

Obediently she did as he asked, but she was awkward and afraid. She clung to him, terrified to step backward onto the ladder. It felt like it took forever to get her turned around with her feet on the top rung. Most of her weight was still supported by him.

She was heavier than he had expected, or perhaps it was the awkward position he was in. He felt the tendons in his bad shoulder protest as he helped her step one rung at a time down into his father’s waiting arms.

“She’s safe!” his dad called from the ground.

Joe had no time to rejoice. He glanced back to check Lydia’s progress. She had managed to climb out of the window and was now crawling on all fours toward him, inching her way to the ladder. Behind her, he saw flames beginning to eat at the walls of the bedroom from which she and Anna had escaped. The metal roof beneath him was growing warm, and he knew they had only moments before their flesh would be seared.

“Hurry, Lydia!” he called.

“I am.” Her voice quavered.

By the light of the blaze, he could see her nightgown-covered knees slipping on the slick metal as her arthritic fingers scrabbled for a hold on the seams.

He sat down and scooted backward, to where she trembled with pain and fear.

“It’s okay,” he crooned as he took her into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

The flames were now licking at the windowsill, and the metal roof had heated to a point that it was starting to burn his skin. So much adrenaline was coursing through his body that it felt as though the old woman weighed nearly nothing, as he inched down the roof with her in his arms.

As he helped her onto the top rung of the ladder, she nearly slipped from his grasp. He lurched forward, tightening his grip on her as she screamed out in fear. Joe followed that scream by an agonized groan of his own, as a feeling of torn muscle sent a shock of pain through his arm. His throat choked in protest at the smoke billowing around him. He smelled the stink of burning hair, not registering the fact that it was his own.

“I’ve got her, son. Now you get down off of there!”

He didn’t have time for Lydia to make her way down the ladder. He felt the heat against the soles of his feet. Letting himself down until his feet touched the banister turned into an awkward half tumble as he tried to lower himself off the porch with only one good arm.

His father enveloped him in a hug the moment Joe fell to the ground.

“I have to get Bertha!” He shook off his father’s embrace and ran toward the door.

“Son!” his father shouted. “Stop!”

He couldn’t stop. He had to get to her. Covering his face the best he could, he fought his way through the heat near the front door. Bertha’s bedroom was on the first floor, but with her leg in a cast, he didn’t know if she could get out by herself.

“Joe!” A voice shouted his name and he felt a body slam into his—a firm, strong body that hit him so hard it knocked him sprawling. His head hit the ground. He was awakened a moment later by someone dragging him backward as the black skeleton of the house collapsed in on itself, sending flying embers high into the air.

A sickness curled in his belly, and he began to retch at the sight. Within seconds, still on his hands and knees, he felt a cool hand holding his forehead and another patting his back.

“Here,” his father said, handing him a clean handkerchief. “You always did get an upset stomach when something bad happened.”

Joe shakily got to his feet. Rachel was standing next to him, and he realized it was her hand that he’d felt on his forehead. And Rachel who had tackled him.

“Why did you stop me?” he said. “I was trying to get Bertha out.”

“Bertha’s fine,” Rachel said. “She was out before you ever climbed onto that roof. I had to knock you down to keep you from trying to rescue a person who was already safe.”

“She’s okay, then?”

“Her modesty is shaken—she’s not used to being seen in her nightgown—but she’s physically unharmed.”

“Thank God.”

“Amen.” Rachel looked him up and down. “I wish I could say the same for you, Joe. The pain hasn’t kicked in yet, I’m sure, but you’re messed up.”

“I don’t care—as long as your aunts are safe.”

Rachel threw a light blanket around his shoulders. “I’m beginning to think Bertha was right about you being an angel. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened to Lydia and Anna.”

“How did you get here so fast?” he asked.

“I went to the hospital to check on Eli. I saw the flames on my way back.”

“How is he?”

“He’s going to make it, Joe.” Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. “Eli’s going to live.”

The Sugarcreek Fire Department had already arrived and were drenching the daadi haus, saving it from the flames.

The farmhouse was gone.

Joe knew he could not begin to fathom the grief the sisters must be feeling right now. They had grown up in this house. Everything they owned, everything they loved, had gone up in smoke.

Bertha, so long the guardian of this special place, must be utterly crushed.

“Well.” He heard her familiar voice behind him. “We will no longer have need to paint the haus.”

She stood behind him, leaning on her walker and gazing at the fire. Her face was inscrutable, but tears were streaming down her face.

“I’m so sorry, Bertha,” Joe said. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.” She scoffed. “It is just boards and bricks. It is worldly to grieve over such things.”

“I suppose insurance will help replace it,” he mused.

Bertha was silent.

His father cleared his throat. “I don’t believe the Amish carry insurance.”

“What?” Joe was incredulous.

“Gott will provide,” Bertha said.

It was still two hours before dawn. Everyone was gathered around a kerosene lamp on Joe’s kitchen table.

The fire chief had broken the news to them as gently as possible. Anna looked on with wide, solemn eyes, clutching and unclutching the green tablecloth Lydia had so happily spread over Joe’s table what now seemed ages ago.

“It was arson?” Lydia was aghast.

“There was an empty gasoline can and some charred rags behind the farmhouse. Do you have anyone mad enough at you or your church to want to burn the place down?” the fire chief asked.

“Is this possible?” Bertha said.

“The state fire marshal will do an investigation, but it looks pretty cut-and-dried to me. Are you ladies okay?”

“I am okay,” Bertha said. “My sisters are okay. The person who set the fire—is not so okay, I think.”

“He certainly won’t be if we find him,” the fire chief muttered. “He won’t be okay at all.”

The theory of the fire having been deliberately set validated Joe’s deepest suspicions. In his heart, from the moment he’d seen the blaze, he had suspected that this was not an accident.

He knew that somehow, someway, this house had been destroyed because of him.

“Where’s Darren?” he asked his dad.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in Bobby’s room when I went to wake him after I called the fire department.”

“Darren always liked playing with fire.”