Secrets of Harmony Grove (56 page)

“I don’t know. I was in the woods, just playing, and I found it. Then all of a sudden Burl was there, saying, ‘Look at what you did, Emory. Just look at what you did!’ So I guess I did, and I just didn’t remember.”

I looked out at the black night, at the swarm of law enforcement officers, at the sight of Burl being put into a police car and driven away.

“Burl was lying, Emory,” I said, shaking my head sadly, ashamed even at myself for doubting this gentle man who could never hurt a soul.

“Is that why the police are taking him away?”

“Yep. Also because he killed Troy, and I think he did a lot of other bad things too.”

Emory nodded, thinking about that.

“What was he saying in there about the Fishing Tree?” he asked. “I hope he didn’t hurt it. The birds love all those worms.”

Startled, I turned to my uncle, his face the very picture of innocence.

“You know which tree is the Fishing Tree?” I asked incredulously.

“Sure,” he replied. “It’s the Southern Catawba. Everybody knows that. Some people call ’em ‘fishing trees’ or ‘fish bait trees.’ That’s because they attract worms.”

“And there’s one of those in the grove?” I asked, a grin spreading across my face.

“Sure is,” he replied. “Hey, maybe when you’re better and your cuts and everything have healed, I can show it to you.”

Shaking my head in wonder, I replied that I would like that very much.

Once they finally evaluated me, the paramedics said that two of my cuts were deep enough to need stitches. So after I made sure Liesl was okay and Emory was all set and I was free to leave the scene, I accepted Georgia’s offer of a ride to the hospital. We went in her patrol car, and the whole way to Lancaster I was so exhausted and punchy that I was tempted to reach out and flip on the lights and siren, just for fun. Good thing I wasn’t a cop myself or I might end up terrorizing entire neighborhoods.

As we neared the hospital, I realized that she wasn’t just making casual conversation, she was trying to find out how I felt about Mike. From the way she talked, it was obvious she had a lot of respect for the man, both personally and professionally, and she didn’t want to see him get hurt. I appreciated her candor and was honest in return, telling her that while Mike was certainly a catch, he wasn’t the one for me. I had decided I wouldn’t be pursuing any relationship with him except friendship.

“Fair enough,” she replied as we reached the hospital and turned in. After pulling up to the door of the emergency room and coming to a stop, she added, “If you end up sticking around, maybe you and I could be friends too.”

I smiled, agreeing, saying how much I would like that.

But all through registration and treatment, and even as an intern deadened the cut on my knee and began to sew it up, I kept thinking about one thing Georgia had just said:
If you end up sticking around
.

That was exactly what I had been thinking about doing.

In my whole life, I had never thought of Lancaster County as a place I might live. It had been my father’s childhood home and a great place to visit during my own childhood, but I had always considered myself to be a city girl at heart.

Yet if I had learned anything over the past few days, it was that maybe the city wasn’t the best place for me after all. That had nothing to do with Philadelphia itself and everything to do with me, with my competitive nature, with my tendencies toward ambition and material wealth, and that ever-present need for excitement that any city would feed.

Those were the elements that had led me to Troy in the first place, that had brought me down a number of paths I probably shouldn’t have gone down. Now, after all that had happened here, I had to wonder if I ought to start over again in this place where I already had family and friends and the accountability those people would bring.

Of course, that would mean having to quit my job at Buzz, but I had a feeling that was one resignation I wouldn’t mind turning in at all. At least my skills and experience in advertising wouldn’t go to waste. I could simply channel them differently, focusing on the marketing and running of my very own inn.

“You doing okay?” the intern asked as he finished off the short, tidy row of stitches at my knee.

“I’m fine. Can’t feel a thing,” I assured him. Pleased, he moved on to the cut at my shoulder, numbed it, and went to work there as I returned to my thoughts.

There was definitely something satisfying about the thought of living on land that had once been owned by my great-grandfather. I only wished Grandpa Abe could have found peace and contentment there in his lifetime. I understood now that he had never really recovered from the atrocities of the war. Obsessed with the fact that he hadn’t carried a gun and fought against the evil that was Hitler and his regime, Grandpa Abe had ended up pulling away from everyone, including the women who loved him. Even from God.

If I asked Liesl or Jonah to defend the Amish stance on nonviolence,
even in light of the Holocaust, they would probably say that if everyone practiced nonviolence, there would be no Holocausts, no Nazis to fight, no Hitlers, no persecution at all. Which was a valid point. At least after the past few days, when so much violence had swirled around us, I would be more respectful of Heath’s position, glad at least that he was a man of conviction.

As for me, I would continue to maintain that Christians should turn the other cheek in situations of retaliation, but when it came to persecution, not only were we free to protect ourselves and others, but it was our Christian responsibility to do so. Fortunately, I had finally come to understand that on this issue Heath and I really could agree to disagree.

By the next morning I ached in every fiber of my being—not just from my run-in with the bird but also because I had spent much of the night sleeping in a chair beside Heath’s hospital bed. He had gone in and out of consciousness all night, talking gibberish and tossing and turning, but now he seemed to be in a good, deep sleep.

Seizing the opportunity to freshen up, I decided to go for a walk as well and check on Mike, who was in a room down the hall. Much to my surprise, he was fully awake and back to his normal self again.

Pulling up a chair beside his bed, I sat while we talked about the events of the night, the status of the case, and his own brush with ketamine. He said he felt as though he had a bad hangover but otherwise would survive. He was more concerned about my injuries, but I assured him that I’d had worse, and that this too would pass.

We were quiet for a bit after that. I wanted to say that I appreciated more than he would ever know all he had done for me, and that I had tremendous respect for him and would always be grateful he had been the detective assigned to my case. But as soon as I launched in, he interrupted me, cutting to the chase.

“So there’s no chance for us, Collins? We’d make quite a pair, you know.”

Smiling sadly, I reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Yes, we would. I have no doubt we’d light up the sky like fireworks.”

We shared a smile. Then I tried to let go of his hand, but he squeezed mine harder, holding on.

“What’s wrong with fireworks?” he pressed, leaning toward me.

Again I met his eyes, wondering how I could make him understand.

“Nothing,” I whispered. “This may not make sense to you, Mike, and I’m sorry. But these days what I find myself most wanting instead are fire-flies—the quiet, gentle glow of a million fireflies, lighting up the night.”

Heading back up the hall to Heath’s room, I was surprised to run into Nina—and even more surprised to learn she was there to see Mike.

“He and I don’t know each other that well,” she told me, her cheeks flushing, “but I wanted to make sure he was okay, and to thank him for everything he did to solve the case.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”

After expressing concern about my own injuries and Heath’s condition, Nina tried to apologize for not having believed me about Troy, but I wouldn’t let her finish. Instead, I told her that I understood, that she wasn’t the first woman to buy into the lies of a handsome and exciting man.

“That’s why we need friends and family and community around us, so we can get input and accountability and make wiser decisions,” I explained, adding that this was something the Amish had always understood well.

Nina nodded, thinking.

“So what are your thoughts on…the detective?” she asked, her cheeks again flushing as she glanced toward Mike’s room.

I smiled, telling her that I endorsed him wholeheartedly, that I thought it was about time she set her sights on such a good man, the kind of man she deserved.

Nina and I parted ways for the time being, and as I stepped back inside Heath’s room, I stood there and looked down at his sleeping form, wondering if I deserved him. He, too, was a good man, one who would love and care for me the rest of my life.

The one who would be the string to my kite.

But didn’t he deserve better? Didn’t he need someone equally solid, who wasn’t so impulsive, so easily led astray, so prone to wandering down all the wrong paths?

Slowly he opened his eyes, and when he saw me, the first thing he did
was open his arms as well. Moving into those arms and burying my face against his shoulder and holding on as tightly as I could, I said a silent prayer, asking God for guidance in this relationship and in my life.

“I love you,” Heath whispered, stroking my hair with his hands as he held me close.

I needed to bring him up to speed, to tell him why he was here in the hospital and explain about everything that had happened since he’d been taken out by one of Burl’s tranquilizer darts. Instead, I remained silent as he went on to list qualities of mine that he loved the most. As he spoke, describing me as “spontaneous” rather than “impulsive” and “adventurous” rather than “foolhardy,” I suddenly realized something that not only made me feel better about myself as a person but also reaffirmed our relationship as well.

To fly without flying away, the kite needed the string, yes. But just as important, the string needed the kite—to lift it up, to keep it always aiming toward the sky.

Three Weeks Later