He checked and double-checked. Not a question in his mind. This was undeniably the landscape captured in the striking picture he had carried with him ever since first seeing it last Christmas. . . .
He had gone to hang out with a friend at a printshop in Marion, Kentucky, one miserably cold afternoon. The place was so unpretentious no one ever would have guessed a slick-looking magazine was being created on the premises.
‘‘Hey, wanna see how we lay out our cover art?’’ the pudgy designer asked, motioning for Ben to have a look.
At his first glance at what was to become a magazine cover, Ben felt something of a fist growing in the pit of his stomach. The featured painting, titled ‘‘Obsession,’’ rattled him as he observed a reddish covered bridge and a grove of trees bursting with autumn colors. From one of the trees hung a long rope swing.
What jolted him even more was the sunbeam highlighting something unlikely on the wooden seat of the swing—a peach stone—that sent a wicked shiver down his spine.
‘‘Can you make a copy of this for me?’’ he had asked the designer.
‘‘Sure,’’ his friend said. ‘‘This picture happens to be the winner of our first-ever art contest.’’ The man went to print a full-color copy.
Ben hadn’t thought to ask who the artist was, only to inquire of the location of the painting.
‘‘Well, I believe it’s Lancaster County, Pennsylvania’’ was the reply.
‘‘Nothing more specific?’’
The guy nodded. ‘‘Someplace in Paradise. How’s that for a name of a town?’’
As Ben stared at the painting, he’d felt his friend’s curious gaze.
‘‘We’ve got a few Plain groups around here,’’ the designer continued. ‘‘Sure is hard not to gawk at people who look so out of place in the twenty-first century.’’
Ben had agreed. But how did that explain his fascination with the painting? No Amish folk in it anywhere . . . just an old covered bridge, the stream, and a cluster of trees at peak foliage.
There has to be a logical explanation
, he thought.
Still, Ben had not told anyone how captivating he found the painting to be, nor that the picture had stirred up a world of visions in him.
Now he stood on the brink of the actual bridge, staring at the frozen creek below. Turning away from the stone abutment, where he had leaned hard for fear he might become ill, he faced the dark tunnel.
The sound of footsteps echoed, and he looked but saw nothing. No one.
An inexplicable sense of danger registered in his brain.
Turn back! Run!
Ben’s hands were suddenly cold. He had lost all feeling in his fingers. They were as strangely numb as his soul.
What’s happening to me?
L
ouisa led Courtney up the stairs in the Dawdi Haus to get her dressed for the barn singing. ‘‘Annie and I hang out here,’’ Louisa said, opening the door.
Courtney stepped inside and cautiously looked around the stark bedroom. ‘‘So this is where you’ve been holed up,’’ she said.
‘‘Yep,’’ Louisa replied simply, stunned that Courtney would agree to dress Plain. Or that she would consider attending the singing at all.
‘‘Cool,’’ Courtney had whispered so only Louisa could hear. ‘‘I’ll just pretend it’s Halloween.’’
Annie brought over a royal blue dress and a black apron from the wall pegs, and Courtney rolled her eyes as she slipped into the skirt part of the cape dress.
When Annie ran across the hall to borrow a few more pins from Mammi Zook, Courtney looked at Louisa and shrugged. ‘‘How bad can it be? A barn singing, right? Like hillbilly night at summer camp. Remember, Louisa?’’
But this is the real thing
.
Courtney screwed up her face when Annie suggested pulling her thick locks into a low, tight bun. ‘‘Is this necessary?’’ she asked Annie, who was quick to nod.
‘‘Oh, jah, ever so important,’’ Annie attempted to explain. ‘‘Without the Kapp, the rest of it is all for naught.’’
But for bangle-loving Courtney the bottom line was curiosity, most likely. Despite her aversion to the Plain attire, and the fact that her layered hair kept slipping out from the twisted sides and low hair bun, Courtney said she wasn’t going to miss out on a ‘‘rare chance’’ to be eyewitness to an Amish barn gathering, especially after sleeping through Preaching service earlier.
Louisa couldn’t help wondering what Courtney’s true motivation was for going tonight. She suspected it had much more to do with checking up on her, especially in the guy department.
All during the ride to the singing, Courtney kept commenting on how incredibly slow they were moving. Omar, at the reins, said nothing, but Louisa noticed his mouth tighten. Louisa had become accustomed to and now relished the slower pace of things but couldn’t imagine Courtney ever giving up
her
wheels. Not to mention her lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow, all of which she was wearing even now beneath her black bonnet.
A peahen dress with a peacock
face,
Louisa thought wryly, and grinned.
And riding in a buggy without a heater in the cold—the bone-chilling kind—wasn’t something a girl like Courtney would ever forget. Nope. She’d go straight home and tell Louisa’s mother how crazy her daughter was . . . living like she was on a Lewis and Clark expedition or something.
When they arrived at the Glicks’ home, Omar took care of the horse while Annie led Louisa and Courtney up the slope to the barn, pushing their boots through the snow. The night air was plenty nippy, as Annie might say, and Louisa saw that a large bonfire had been built in the side yard.
‘‘Come along,’’ Annie said, as they went up the snowcovered earthen bridge that led to the upper level of the two-story bank barn. Louisa helped Annie push open the heavy wooden door to reveal a large haymow swept clean enough to see the wide wood planks of the vast floor in the center. Bales of hay had been stacked high on either side.
The young men stood in clusters, their black hats straight on their heads. Some of the shy ones ran thumb and pointer fingers up and down their suspenders, while the girls were prim in below-the-knee-length dresses of blue, green, violet, and burgundy all along the opposite wall. Gas heaters were scattered here and there to ward off the chill. But nervous tension, Louisa suspected, was partly responsible for the frosty atmosphere.
Courtney turned to Louisa. ‘‘How do I look?’’
‘‘Like a woman on the prowl,’’ Louisa whispered, then laughed.
Courtney poked her in the arm as they stood on the threshold. ‘‘I’m in over my head here, aren’t I?’’
‘‘Just do what Annie does,’’ Louisa offered, hoping that was sound advice.
‘‘Jah, and say what I say, too,’’ Annie added, grinning.
‘‘I’ll just say ‘jah’ all night,’’ Courtney agreed.
‘‘Yeah, and get yourself a ride home with a handsome feller,’’ Louisa teased.
‘‘How exciting,’’ Courtney replied, batting her eyes.
Louisa felt strange encouraging Courtney to come along, even though she herself was still very much on the fringe of this alien society.
Which is where I need to stay,
she thought as she caught a glimpse of tall and smiling Sam Glick. The notion that Courtney might witness firsthand Sam’s obvious interest made Louisa uneasy.
Is it too much to hope she won’t notice?
She sighed, imagining the fallout.
It was past suppertime when Ben called home. His mother answered on the third ring. ‘‘Oh, it’s good to hear from you. I hope you’ve changed your mind about staying there.’’
‘‘Well, I’m not calling about coming home.’’
An awkward pause ensued.
‘‘You okay, son?’’
‘‘Wanted to check in . . . see how you and Dad are doing.’’
‘‘You have sisters, too, you know.’’
‘‘Oh yeah. I keep trying to forget,’’ he quipped.
His mom laughed a little, and then he inquired of his dad’s health.
‘‘Oh, your father just never quits. Can’t get him to rest much at all.’’
‘‘So he’s working long hours?’’
‘‘Always.’’
‘‘How does Patrice like KSU
this
semester?’’
‘‘Fine . . . a new start for her. She wants to know when she can hook up with you on instant messaging. She calls here on her cell quite a lot.’’
Then she can call me herself and ask. . . .
Immediately he thought better of suggesting it. He knew if Patrice called, she would ask incessant questions.
He asked about his high-school-age sister. ‘‘Is Sherri doing all right?’’
‘‘She’s standing right here, grabbing for the phone . . . wanna talk to her?’’
Well, no, he really didn’t, because then Sherri would feel they should pass the phone around the whole family and he wasn’t up to that. But he was polite and said, ‘‘Sure.’’
Sherri had frivolous things on her mind, and he wondered why she wasn’t blabbing the boy-girl stuff to one of her girlfriends instead. ‘‘Hey, I miss you, bro,’’ she said. ‘‘When’re you ever coming home again?’’
‘‘Are you kidding? I’ve got a good job here. I’ve moved on . . . in another month I won’t even remember your name.’’
Sherri giggled. ‘‘You
better
remember. I’ve got algebra tests soon, and you’re my ticket to an A, don’t forget.’’
‘‘Got my own apartment, sis.’’
She groaned. ‘‘Don’t rub it in.’’
‘‘Come visit sometime,’’ he said, just to see what she’d say.
‘‘Yeah, like Mom’ll say yes to that. Well, speaking of homework, Mom’s giving me the eye. Better go.’’
‘‘See ya, needle nose.’’
‘‘Whatever.’’
Mom got right back on the phone. ‘‘Say, Ben, I read in the paper about a serial killer admitting to some crimes in Lancaster County. Have you heard anything?’’
He resisted the urge to groan. Mom had an obsession with true crime stories, gravitating to dubious newspaper articles and TV drivel. Anything sensational.
‘‘Amish farmland has evidently been used by killers before,’’ she continued.
‘‘Oh, Mom. C’mon!’’
‘‘No, seriously. I should send you the article.’’
Ben sighed, ready for a topic change.
‘‘Some folk are saying it must be sacred ground.’’
‘‘What is?’’
‘‘Amish soil . . . where the victims are buried.’’
‘‘Yeah. Mom? I gotta go.’’
‘‘When are you coming home, Ben?’’
‘‘Mom—’’
‘‘All right, fine. But be careful, please?’’
‘‘Sure, Mom.’’ He wished Dad were home more often, spending time with her.
She was clucking into the phone. ‘‘It’s so nice of you to call. We all miss you terribly.’’
He was ready to say good-bye when he spied the picture of the Pequea Creek bridge on his kitchen table. ‘‘Hey, have we ever been to Pennsylvania before?’’
A short pause ensued. ‘‘Hmm . . . once when you were in grade school.’’
No wonder I remember
.
‘‘We came home early from that vacation, though. Got tired of all the people—not the Amish, but the tourists.’’
He smiled. ‘‘The place
is
hopping with sightseers, people dying for a glimpse of the horse-and-buggy folk.’’
‘‘Well, speaking of dying, you be very careful, dear.’’
‘‘Hey, did you find my birth certificate yet?’’
‘‘Still looking,’’ she replied.
‘‘I needed it weeks ago . . . will you put it at the top of your to-do list, please?’’
She agreed to.
‘‘Good-bye. I’ll call you next week,’’ he said and hung up.
Serial killers dumping bodies in Amish farmland? Give me a
break!
Louisa recalled instantly what it was that had first forged her friendship with Courtney back in middle school. This girl had magnetic draw. She wore a perpetual winning smile, and she could put a person at ease, make them laugh . . . even disarm them, if necessary. And she was doing it now, mingling, along with Louisa, meeting one cousin or friend of Annie’s after another.
Louisa figured the boys were somewhat leery, having met one too many fancy girls clothed by the preacher’s daughter. For this she was relieved, glad Courtney would have no interaction with Sam.
I’m off the hook,
she thought. But she wondered how it would go if she didn’t end up riding home with Annie. Even so, she wouldn’t worry away the night.
Courtney will only be here for another day or so. . . .
Some time later, two boys were brave enough to walk over and talk to Courtney, one blushing perfect circles of red on each cheek.
But when someone started playing a guitar, the talkative guy, one Annie quickly informed her was a cousin ‘‘once removed,’’ asked Courtney if she wanted to join several other couples in the square. Courtney flashed a look that said, ‘‘What’re we waiting for?’’ and followed willingly. Surprised, Louisa would’ve lost her socks, that is, if she weren’t wearing heavy black hose.
Just then Louisa saw Sam making his way through the crowd toward her. She willed herself to breathe, more than happy to see Courtney so well occupied.
‘‘Hullo, Louisa . . . you’re way over here? And why’s that?’’ he asked, smiling down at her.
She looked for Annie, who had suddenly disappeared. ‘‘I, well . . . Annie and I brought along a guest.’’
‘‘The made-up girl?’’ asked Sam, his eyes still on her. ‘‘Not from round here, that’s certain.’’
Louisa shook her head. ‘‘You’re right about that.’’
Sam did not turn to look at the couples, nor did he show any more interest in asking about Courtney. He leaned near and whispered, ‘‘Would ya like to square dance with me?’’
Pausing, she wondered if this was such a good idea.
Why
did I show up here?
She felt almost shy as he stood beside her, the sleeve of his white dress shirt brushing against her arm.
Would Sam be this interesting if he were dressed like any
modern guy?
she wondered.
Even so, she did not step away from him, wondering what to do with her feelings.
Then, when the music stopped and more couples joined in, the blond teenage boy caller hoisted himself onto a square bale of hay and announced, ‘‘Stir the Bucket,’’ which brought a big round of applause and a few hoots from the boys.
‘‘Now’s our turn,’’ Sam said, reaching for her hand. ‘‘All right?’’