Restless Hearts (10 page)

Ted muttered something, and then the wail of his siren shattered the night air. Too late now to worry about alerting the intruders. She shoved the window up, leaning out in hope of getting a better view of them.

Their figures were silhouetted briefly as they skirted the light cast by her back porch lamp. Teenagers, she'd guess, by their size and the way they moved. The first three had hoods up, turning them into featureless shapes. The last one—

She pulled back inside so sharply that she struck her head on the window frame, seeing stars for a moment. She sank down on the floor, rubbing her head, the cell phone dropping in her lap.

The last figure—she couldn't be mistaken. The dark
clothes, the shape of the hat, the cut of the trousers—it had been someone in Amish garb.

 

Ted walked toward Fiona's back door, frustration tightening every muscle. He'd been close, so close. Closer than he'd ever been to catching or at least identifying the vandals, thanks to Fiona, but they'd slipped away again.

He glanced toward the dark patch of woods behind the store. Were they back there someplace, watching him? Common sense said they'd headed straight for home, but he couldn't shake off the thought. What kind of cop couldn't outwit a few teenagers?

No use feeling sorry for his circumstances, because they were his choice. He wasn't a big-city cop anymore, with plenty of backup and a forensic team. He was only one man, and they'd had just enough of a head start to elude him. He could only hope that Fiona had seen something that would help him identify them.

He rapped on the door, frowning at the glass window in it. Very nice to see who was out here, but also very easy for someone to break.

Fiona swung the door open, eyes widening at his expression. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking that you should have something more secure for a back door—either a solid door or wire mesh over the window.”

She stood back to let him enter the brightly lit
kitchen. A kettle steamed gently on the stove, and the windowsills were bright with pots of yellow mums. “I thought this was a safe place to live.”

“So did I.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped it open. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

“What about Ruth's store? Have you told her? Did they damage the quilts?”

It was tempting to answer her, to get into a conversation between friends about what had happened, but he couldn't. He needed to get a statement from her as close time wise to the incident as possible so it wouldn't be contaminated in any way by his outside information.

“Concentrate on what you saw and heard.” That sounded more abrupt than it needed to. “Please, Fiona. It's important to go over it before you forget.”

“I'm not likely to forget.” Her voice was tart. She picked up the mug of tea that sat on the table and held it between her hands, as if she needed its warmth. “I couldn't get to sleep, because—well, that doesn't matter.”

Because of that visit from Emma? He longed to ask her, but that too would be sidetracking.

She clutched the mug a little more tightly. “The light that Ruth leaves on in the store reflects on my bedroom ceiling. I saw a shadow move across it.” She frowned, as if trying to be sure she got it exactly right. “I waited a couple of minutes, thinking maybe it was a bird flying between the buildings, but then I saw it again and knew it was a person. I went to the window.”

“Is it possible they could see you?” The last thing either of them needed was for the vandals to target her next.

She shook her head. “I was careful to stay back and leave the lights off.” She shut her eyes briefly, as if to visualize what she'd seen. “There were people moving in the store. And there was one outside in the alley, in the shadow of the building.”

“People? What kind of people? How many?” His frustration put an edge to his voice.

Her lips tightened. “I'm telling you what I saw then. That was when I called you.”

He was ticking her off, apparently. He regretted it, but duty came first. If he'd gotten here a little sooner—but he knew that was impossible. “Did you get a better look at them at any point?”

“The one outside, the lookout, must have heard your car. He said something to them, but I couldn't hear what. Then they all bailed out the window and started running down the alleyway between the buildings.”

She came to a stop, but he sensed that there was more. “Your back porch light was on?”

She nodded, glancing toward it.

“Then you must have seen something when they ran past.”

“Not much.” Her tone was guarded. “The three who had been inside the store ran past first.” She frowned a little, shaking her head. “I couldn't get a good look—it happened so fast. They all wore jeans and dark sweatshirts or maybe jackets with the hoods
pulled up. Judging by their size and the way they moved, I'd guess they were teenagers, but I can't swear to that.” She shrugged. “I'm sorry I can't be more help.”

She was holding something back. He knew it, and it angered him.

“This is no time to be evasive. What else did you see? Come on, Fiona, out with it.”

“Or what? You'll lock me up?”

“Or you'll be withholding evidence in a criminal case,” he replied evenly. “And I know you don't want to do that.”

She lifted a hand to her forehead, shoving her hair back, the fight going out of her. “No. Of course not. It's just that I—” She shook her head.

“Whatever it is, it's my job to figure out. Is it something about the fourth boy?”

She nodded. “He was several steps behind the others. When he passed the light I could see—not his face, but his clothing. He was wearing Amish clothing.”

It was like a punch to the stomach. For a moment he couldn't say anything at all. Then he shook his head violently. “You must be wrong.”

“I know what I saw.” Her eyes flashed. “The hat, the dark jacket and pants—believe me, I'd like to be mistaken, but I'm not.”

The pain behind her words convinced him. “It's just—” He shrugged, not knowing what to say. “It's unheard of, that's all. Even during their rumspringa, when they have more freedom to try things, Amish youngsters
don't get up to criminal mischief, especially not with English teens.”

Fiona rubbed the back of her neck tiredly. “I wish I hadn't seen it. But maybe it was some kind of a prank—a kid dressed up in Amish clothing, hoping to throw the blame on them.”

“Possible, I suppose, if these kids are cleverer than I've been giving them credit for.” Dread was building in him. Balancing between two worlds wasn't an easy thing at the best of times. If he had to arrest an Amish kid, he'd be landing in no-man's-land. “Look, are you sure—?”

“Do you think I like this any better than you do?” Fiona had to be at the end of her rope. “What do you think it will do to my practice with the Amish if word gets out that I'm accusing one of them?” She paled. “Please—this doesn't have to be public, does it? Maybe you can forget who told you.”

He stiffened. “I have to do my duty, no matter how little I like it.”

“I'm not asking you to break any laws.” Her eyes darkened. “But does doing my duty as a citizen have to cost me a big share of my practice? The Amish community is already wary of me.”

“I hope not.” He shook his head, suddenly bone-tired. “I won't be making anything public while I'm conducting an investigation, but if it comes to an arrest, I can't promise you anything.”

She gave a short nod, seeming to pull back into herself. “All right. I guess I can't expect anything else.”

His duty stood like a barrier between them, and she must know it as well as he did. Unfortunately, there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

“T
his is going to look terrific.” Nolie ran her paint roller over the wall of Fiona's living room, then stood back to admire the effect of the light moss green. “I love to paint. It makes everything look so fresh and new.”

“You've come to the right place, then.” Fiona divided her smile between Nolie and Aunt Siobhan, both clad in jeans and T-shirts, bandanas protecting their hair. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

And your support.
She wanted to add that, but was still reluctant to expose how much they all meant to her.

“It's a pleasure.” Aunt Siobhan, looking as young as one of her daughters in the casual clothes, swept a brush along the woodwork. “And besides, it gives us a chance to catch up with you. How is the practice going? Is it building the way you expected?”

Fiona frowned, watching the dingy tone of the wall disappear with a sweep of the roller. “I'm not sure just
what I expected. I'm getting by, so far.” She wouldn't tell them how slim her bank account had become. “But the Amish should be a large part of a nurse-midwife practice in this area, and so far that's not happening.”

Siobhan's concerned expression seemed to say that she read what wasn't spoken. “You know that you can come to us if you need anything, don't you?”

Her throat tightened. She still wasn't used to the open-handed, open-hearted way these relatives had accepted her. “Thank you, but it hasn't come to that yet.”

“Is this reluctance of theirs because of your mother's family? Have you had a chance to talk with them yet?” Nolie's roller moved in time with her question, efficient as always. No wonder she was able to juggle her family and her life-altering work so smoothly.

“I've talked with an aunt and a cousin,” she said. “So far my grandparents haven't been willing to see me.”

Distress filled Siobhan's eyes. “I'm sorry. That just seems so heartless—”

“It's not that,” she said quickly. “I thought that at first, but it seems my grandmother ended up hospitalized with severe depression after my mother left. They're trying to protect her, not hurt me.”

“Even so, it affects your livelihood,” Nolie said. “It's so unfair.”

And now she had that business with the vandals to add to her potential problems. At least according to Ruth, they'd been scared off before they'd done more than tip over a display stand. Even Ruth didn't know her
involvement. Ted had said he'd keep her part quiet for the time being, but he clearly wouldn't bend any regulations for her. She'd come up against that rigid cop mentality of his a couple of times, and she didn't like it.

“Is something else wrong?” Siobhan's words were soft, but they pierced Fiona's heart. Her aunt Siobhan just saw much too clearly.

The longing to pour all her worries into her aunt's sympathetic ear almost overwhelmed her. Almost, but not quite. The old habit of holding back, not rocking the boat, was too strong to be overcome that easily.

“No, nothing.” She managed a smile. “I guess I just didn't realize how much of an effect my mother's decision would have on me.”

“Ripples in a pond,” Siobhan said. “We can never know how many people will be affected by the things we do. It wasn't just your mother's decision, you know. Your father's actions caused their own set of problems.”

“You mean with his brother?” Was she finally going to learn what the breach between Uncle Joe and her father was all about?

Siobhan's eyes were touched with sadness. “It was a terrible quarrel, terrible. Joe was as much to blame as his brother. He should have known you don't dissuade someone from falling in love by shouting at him.”

Her throat tightened. “You mean their breach was caused by my mother?”

Siobhan caught her hand and held it firmly. “No, don't think that. It certainly wasn't your mother's fault.
They fell in love, and the only way Michael could see to deal with the situation was by taking her away. Of course Joe thought they were too young, that Michael was ruining her life, and that he wasn't thinking it through. All that was true enough, but not what Michael wanted to hear.

“I'm so sorry that they've never made it up.” Ripples in a pond, indeed.

“Well, what Joe never wanted to admit was that he'd always pictured Michael going into the fire service, as he and their other brother did. That rankled, when Michael was ready to throw that away. And then it turned into plain old Flanagan stubbornness, with neither of them willing to make the first move.”

“Flanagans are famous for their stubbornness,” Nolie said, bending to put her roller down on the tray. “But this seems over the top, even for a Flanagan.”

“Of course it does.” Siobhan's tone went brisk with what sounded like exasperation. “The sad part is that say what he will, that stubborn husband of mine will never really be right spiritually until he's forgiven his brother and himself for this foolish quarrel.”

“I suppose my being here has only made it worse.” Everywhere she turned, it seemed Fiona found more problems generated by her presence.

Siobhan's eyes widened. “If you think that, then I'm telling this all wrong. If not for that stupid quarrel, we'd have known earlier about your mother's death and maybe have been able to help. Your being here is finally
making Joe take a long look at his behavior. Mind, I'm not saying he'll jump right in with an apology, but I think he's ready to mend things if your father is.” She looked at Fiona expectantly.

Fiona felt helpless. “I don't know,” she said. “Really, I don't. My father never talked about his brother, just as he never talked about my mother. I have no idea how he'd react if Uncle Joe called him.”

“How did he react to your coming here?” Siobhan asked.

“He didn't like it.” She could only hope her voice didn't betray how difficult that had been. She still cringed when she thought of that icy scene. “And it seems unanimous. My grandparents don't like it, either.”

Or Ted. But she wasn't going to say that.

Siobhan gave her a hug, heedless of their paint-daubed clothes. “Well, it's not unanimous, because we love having you here. And it will work out with the others, too. You'll see.” She kissed Fiona's cheek. “I'm praying for you. God will bring good out of this situation. I know it.”

 

Siobhan's words still comforted her that evening as she turned off the light in the office. She'd sat there after supper, going over the records on her patients, organizing her files. The work comforted her, as Aunt Siobhan's words did. It affirmed who she was.

The difficult moment came when she'd turned off the lights and walked up the stairs, as she was doing now.
This was the lonely time, she had to admit it. Crossroads was so quiet at night, the house incredibly still. Of course she'd rather have it that way than have the excitement of the break-in at Ruth's store.

She was bending over to take a magazine from the basket next to her chair when the phone rang. It was rare enough to hear it that the sound startled her. She picked it up.

“Fiona Flanagan.”

“Fiona, I'm glad I caught you.” Ted's voice crackled in her ear, and she caught the wail of a siren in the background. “Miriam Hostetler and her husband have been in an accident—a car hit their buggy. The paramedics are on their way, but she's asking for you. Will you come?”

“Of course.” A silent prayer for the young woman and her husband filled her mind. “How bad is it?”

“I'd have said not too serious, but she's scared and shaken up and worried about the baby. We're on the road you took to their farm the other day—about three miles past the Amish schoolhouse.”

“I'm on my way.” She hung up, snatched her handbag and raced down the stairs to pick up her medical kit as she rushed to the car.

She spun out onto the road, mentally rehearsing the way to the farm. It would take just minutes to get there, just time enough to consider the possibilities. It was highly unlikely for an accident to harm the baby at this early stage, as well protected as it was, but she'd learned
to listen to the mother's intuition. If Miriam thought something was wrong, she had to take that into account.

Lord, You're seeing what's going on far better than I could. Please, be with Your servant Miriam now. Protect and comfort her.

It seemed she'd barely finished the prayer when she spotted the revolving lights on Ted's patrol car. The paramedic unit was on scene, too, and she grabbed her bag and rushed toward it, thanking God that the EMTs had gotten here so quickly. Miriam could use help from all of them.

The black buggy, smashed almost beyond recognition, lay on its side in the ditch, its battery-operated rear lantern still blinking. The big new sedan that had hit it, in comparison, looked barely touched, and she swallowed back anger at the unfairness of it all.

Ted met her at the rear of the unit. He grabbed her and swung her up next to the stretcher. “Let me have your keys,” he murmured. “I'll see to your car.”

She nodded, handing them over.

“Here's Fiona, Miriam. Just like you asked.” The heartiness of his voice didn't quite mask his concern.

“Hi, Miriam.” She kept her voice calm, even as her mind raced, considering possibilities. “How do you feel?”

Miriam's legs moved restlessly, and she turned her head from side to side, but she didn't speak.

Miriam lay on the stretcher, the paramedic opposite Fiona bending over her. Only one paramedic in the Suffolk Fire Department had those bright-red curls—her cousin, Terry.

“Terry. I'm glad it's you. How is she?”

Terry's blue eyes were dark with concern. “Bumps and bruises, mainly. Shaken and scared.” She straightened, turning her head and lowering her voice. “She's holding her belly, terrified for the baby. We'd best take her in, I think. Maybe you'll have better luck than I have at reassuring her.”

Nodding, Fiona edged past her in the narrow confines of the unit to take Terry's place at the side of the stretcher. She knelt, clasping Miriam's hand. The girl was pale, her blue eyes wide with shock, as she clung to Fiona's hand.

“Miriam, I'm here. We're going to take good care of you. We want to take you into the hospital. Is that okay?”

“If you say so,” Miriam whispered. “My Jacob, is he all right?”

Fiona glanced toward Terry, who nodded as she closed the rear doors.

“He's fine,” Terry said. “One of the officers is going to drive him to the hospital, while Fiona and I stay here with you.”

Miriam nodded. She was pale, sweating, and her hand kept going to her abdomen. “My baby,” she murmured, her voice fading as if she didn't want to ask the question.

Fiona looked up at Terry again. “Vitals?”

“Everything okay, but—” Terry shook her head. Obviously her instincts, like Fiona's, told her something more was wrong. “See if you can get her to talk to you.”

Fiona held Miriam's hand between both of hers. “Miriam, you have to tell us what's wrong, so we can help you. It's all right. Honestly.”

Tears spilled over on the girl's ashen cheeks. “Cramps,” she whispered. “I kept having them today. I'm afraid for the baby. That's where we were going. I told Jacob he must take me to you.”

Her heart clutched. Cramping happened sometimes early in pregnancy with no ill effect, but she didn't like it, not combined with the accident and the way Miriam acted.

“Okay, I'm just going to have a quick look. You hold on. We'll be at the hospital soon.” She maneuvered to the foot of the stretcher as Terry slapped the door that led to the cab of the unit.

“Hit the siren, Jeff.”

The van accelerated, swaying a little, as the siren started to wail. Fiona pushed Miriam's dark skirt aside, moving gently, and saw what she feared she'd see.

Her gaze met Terry's over the patient, and it was as if they could read each other's thoughts. The siren's wail was like a mournful cry, echoing the pain in her heart.

 

Ted stalked down the hospital corridor. Ironic. He'd ended up bringing the driver of the car to the same hospital where Miriam was being treated, but in his case it was for a blood alcohol test. A salesman, the driver had been out celebrating a big sale and decided to take a shortcut back to Suffolk. He must have been ripping along the dark country road. The buggy hadn't had a chance.

Ted would never be able to prove the speed, of course, with no witnesses, but the lack of skid marks told the story, and the results of the blood alcohol test would seal the case.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to ease the pain Miriam and her husband were feeling.

He rounded a corner, hesitated, and then went forward. Miriam's and Jacob's parents waited, faces stoic, eyes bright with unshed tears. They must know what he'd just been told. Miriam had lost the baby.