“A mustache?” Eli was thankful the kid was observant. No Amish man grew a mustache—only the beard. So, the kid was right. The shooter could not have been Amish. Not that it was likely a shooter was Amish anyway, as the People did not support the use of weapons—and hence the main reason his own father could not accept his choice of professions. “Did you see where he went?”
“In black car. Big black car.” The boy’s eyes were wide with admiration.
A black car? Like the one that nearly caused the wreck earlier? “And the car?”
“It goes.”
Of course, the car was long gone, but at least he’d been searching in the right place. Whoever he was, he had taken his shell casings with him, meaning he was probably not an amateur. Although if he was a pro, and had been aiming at Eli or Hannah, then why had he missed? They’d been standing out in the open, without a thought of danger, until the first shot had been fired. Could his poor aim have been deliberate? Like warning shots? Eli looked back at the boy. “Okay, son. Let’s get you home. Where do live?”
“Miller’s Grove.”
Elijah nodded. Miller’s Grove was the home of his uncle. “What’s your name, son?”
“Nicholas.” He grinned. “Nicholas Miller.”
“Well, you get on home, Nicholas Miller.” Eli smiled at the child. “Can I have that hat?”
The boy lifted the hat to him. “Are you a policeman?”
“I am,” Eli said, then watched the child, his very own cousin, scramble down the same path he’d taken so many times, so many years ago. At the other edge of the woods, an older girl with golden braids walked the path in her bare feet. No doubt it was Nicholas’s sister come to fetch her brother home.
Elijah sighed and headed back to Nolt Cottage. Great. That cute cousin would head home now and tell all his siblings about the cop in the woods…and then everyone would know he was back in Willow Trace.
But would he be staying long enough to make a difference to his family? He wasn’t sure yet. From those surprising first few minutes, it looked as though he was needed in Willow Trace—at least judging by the flying bullets. But even that didn’t make him want to stay. Seeing Hannah had been strange enough. He couldn’t imagine a confrontation with his own father. No. The sooner he was out of there, the better.
* * *
Hannah wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees to her chest, as if she could squeeze away her own fears. But when her eyes fixed on the shards of broken glass spread across the floor, she continued to tremble.
Today had been the first time she’d dared be alone since that morning in the barn, since Jessica’s “accident”—as Thomas, her brother-in-law, referred to the girl’s death. But Hannah didn’t believe Jessica’s death was an accident. Dead bodies don’t get placed in barns by accident. People probably don’t shoot at you and your house accidentally, either. Losing Jessica had been devastating enough on its own—she had never once imagined that whatever had gotten Jessica killed could put herself or any others in danger, too.
Perhaps Thomas and she should not have kept silent about the events surrounding Jessica’s death. About the blood and how she’d been away all night. About her many secrets. About the black car at the barn and the intruder who pushed Hannah down and locked her inside. If only she could relive that last week. As her mother, she could have prevented this. She should have prevented this.
In her mind she replayed the moments when she could have stopped Jessica and asked her what she was about. Each time she’d failed. What she would give to have just one more day with her precious daughter. Hannah dropped her head in a fit of sobs. What she would give not to have found her in the stable that morning. It seemed the more she tried to push away the memory of that morning, the more she relived it in her mind… .
“Oh, Jessica, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. If only I had been a better mother to you.” Hannah had turned the girl’s hands over in her own as she knelt beside her in the stall. The girl was so disheveled, bloodied, dirty. “This is all my fault. I should have known what you were about. Rumspringa or not, I should have taken better care of you. I can never forgive myself.”
Hannah had brushed the dirt and loose hairs from the girl’s face.
“What’s the trouble?” A deep voice had sounded at the front of the barn.
It was Thomas. He must have wondered why she wasn’t in the house making breakfast. She moved to the side so that he could see his niece in the sheep’s bed of straw.
He froze, the color draining from his face. He rushed forward. “Is that—is that Jessica?”
Hannah met his dark eyes. “I—I found her here. She’s dead, Thomas. Jessica is dead. I have failed her and Peter and God…and you.”
“This is not your doing,” he said. “You must not blame yourself. You were a gut mother to her, Hannah. As gut as her own mother could have been. As good as if you had given birth to her yourself.”
His words were meant to comfort, but Hannah fell limp at the reminder of her infertility and the end of what was to be her only chance at motherhood. She just sat crying silently as Thomas placed Jessica’s hands together on her belly and patted them.
“Our God is sovereign, Hannah. He alone is ruler and judge. We must accept what has happened. Be strong.” He touched his hand to hers. “I will call the elders.”
“No. Please. I don’t want anyone to see her this way.”
He had seen she could not be calmed. “Stay with Jessica until I return. I will bring her clothes. I don’t want Nana to see her this way, either. I will also have to call the police, Chief McClendon. He is sensitive to our ways.”
“Yes. Call the police. They will find who did this to my precious Jessica. I will tell them about the car I saw, and—”
Thomas put a finger to her mouth to stop her speech. “You will tell them nothing, Hannah. You know it is not our way to search for answers. It is in God’s hands. Promise me you will say nothing.”
She promised. He was right, of course—investigating was not what the Amish did. But she couldn’t help wishing, as impossible as it seemed, that someone would come and help her find the truth.
Footsteps sounded on the front porch and she stiffened, turning her face toward the door. Elijah’s solid frame blocked the sun from the room, and his dark shadow covered her. Both startled and relieved, Hannah placed a hand over her mouth and released a tight breath.
“I’m sorry. That took longer than I expected. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” He entered the house slowly.
“I am okay.” She nodded. “Did you see anyone?”
“Yes. But not the shooter. I saw a child. And according to him, the man with the Pistole drove away in a big black car.”
A black car? Like the one at the barn when she’d found Jessica? She swallowed hard. “A child?”
He nodded. “Nicholas Miller. My own cousin, I believe.”
“He is. Son of your cousin John. He comes to see the young horses from time to time. Loves them, he does. He wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“No. He’s fine. Went home down the path. I watched him through the forest.” He walked closer. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do you know something about a black car?”
“How would I know about a black car?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but Eli’s penetrating eyes kept her on edge. “I pay no attention to such things.”
Closing in the space remaining between them, he offered a hand to help her up. “You sure you’re okay,