too. Two of those critters just left.”
“No. It’s a blessing I just happened to spot the fire first and I don’t want to sound prideful. Someone else made the call.”
“And he’s got a lot to say—Jacob, that is,” Ray-Lynn said, tapping her index finger on the middle paragraphs of the article under the large photo of the flaming barn behind the dark silhouettes of firefighters. “He kind of makes it sound like you were working together to call the fire in.”
“Oh, rats,” Sarah said, and leaned over the paper on the counter. “I did not tell him directly to make the call, but I figured he’d have a phone on him, even if half the other rumspringa kids did, too. I have refused more than once to see him, and we are not in cahoots of any kind.”
In cahoots, that’s a good one, Ray-Lynn thought, pouring Sarah a cup of coffee, then reaching in her quilted apron pocket for money to take back to her mother and sister. The Amish had a fresh way of saying some things. Sarah Kauffman might not want to be in cahoots with Jacob Yoder, but she’d sure like to get Sarah to be in cahoots with her about doing some paintings Ray-Lynn could sell for her. The girl was extremely talented, and Ray-Lynn was willing to risk a lot to bring her Amish art to the world.
“I see there’s a big interview here with Fireman Getz,” Sarah said, obviously trying to shift the subject. “It says he has a broken arm but he doesn’t regret going in first to try to put out the flames.”
“More fool he, and that Levi Miller, too. Levi’s cousin to my waitress Anna, you know, and she says both men got released from the regional hospital. Well, I bet I know why Mike Getz played the hero. He and his gal, Cindee what’s-her-name—”
“Cindee Kramer. She works in the hardware store where I buy my paint.”
“Right. Anyhow, they’re not married but been living together—”
“I know. That takes extra nerve around here.”
“They got into a real tiff in the restaurant last week, something about she didn’t look up to him anymore, but I’ll bet she does now. She had a real conniption at table eight in the back room. I was afraid he was going to start throwing things, but I’ll bet he could run for mayor after those heroics,” she said, pointing to the picture of him, smiling, no doubt, prefire, all decked out in his fireman gear. “What? You’re frowning again.”
“Nothing. I will just give the devil his due.”
Ray-Lynn wasn’t sure what that meant, coming from an Amish girl, but she saw outside what she’d been looking for and muttered to herself, “Speak of the devil…”
The sheriff’s shiny black cruiser with that bold light bar had pulled up to parallel park in front. The restaurant door opened, and Sheriff Jack Freeman came in, hanging his hat on a wooden peg, his sharp gaze scanning the room as if he’d find a robbery or kidnapping in progress in this little burg.
“Morning, Ray-Lynn, Sarah,” he said matter-of-factly. He passed them with a nod and his version of an official smile, then sat in his usual spot at the curve of the counter facing the door with his back to the wall so he could keep a good eye on things. Ray-Lynn used to scurry to pour him coffee and take his order—even when she knew what he’d order already—but she’d decided on another tactic now. No falling at his feet, just take it easy, a bit hard to get.
While Sarah scowled over the newspaper, Ray-Lynn sauntered down behind the counter and nonchalantly poured Jack his coffee during their usual chitchat about the weather. She was up for that much of their old routine, at least. She knew darn well he’d want sausage gravy on buttermilk biscuits and two eggs over easy, but she asked, “What will it be today, Sheriff? I’m sure you’ve got a busy day ahead with the extra folks in town, so I’ll send someone right over to get your order.”
She left him staring wide-eyed at her while she went over to fill other people’s cups at the tables.
Jack Freeman was a few years older than Ray-Lynn but he was holding up better than most men his age. No paunch, very few gray hairs, just enough to make his auburn hair looked frosted at the temples. Unlike the bearded Amish men, he was clean-cut, something he’d never changed from his former marine days. He always looked slightly tanned, which set off his clear, brown eyes and white teeth. His black uniform was military clean and crisp-looking, pretty surprising since he’d been divorced for years and Homestead’s one dry cleaner had gone out of business. It annoyed Ray-Lynn that she got kind of shivery around him. The man exuded authority and control, both of which she was itching to dismantle, at least in private, with her Southern gal feminine wiles. But he seemed to put up a big wall when she came on soft and sweet, so her new strategy was worth a try.
She ignored him but made a big fuss over seating four tourists from Columbus, chatting away to them, while Anna Miller took the sheriff’s order. Good—she could tell he didn’t like the lack of personal attention. It was another risk, but she’d decided some things were worth it.
She walked back to Sarah while Jack took out his own copy of the special edition of the Home Valley News. It was only about eight pages this time—a lot of ads, about half of them for businesses Peter had his finger in, even the Buggy Wheel Shop, which had only Amish customers who would go there to buy new buggies whether there was an ad or not.
“The rest of that fire article’s not so bad, is it?” Ray-Lynn asked Sarah. “As I’ve told you a hundred times before, you’re a fabulous artist and should be aiming higher than just quilt squares on barns. I know you’re yearning to do more than copy patterns even if you do choose the colors.”
“I wish he hadn’t put my age in here,” Sarah whispered, looking as if he’d written that she was a serial killer. “It sounds weird that a twenty-four-year-old woman still has her maiden name. ‘Sarah Kauffman, age twenty-four, from the Kauffman farm next door.’ Why do papers think they have to tell stuff like that, and who told him my age?”
“Listen to your friend Ray-Lynn, my girl. At twenty-four, you are still what the big, bad world would consider a young chick, believe me. Now, I know Amish women your age are usually wed by now, but it’ll happen. Besides, not to sound like a broken record, but you’ve got other talents, and I’m real sorry to see that first pretty quilt square you did got burned up with the barn. You’ve got to branch out, so my offer is still open for you to paint an Amish scene on that long wall right there instead of that old-fashioned wallpaper. I’ll never forget those beautiful drawings you showed me from your sketchbook.”
“Thanks, Ray-Lynn. I haven’t shown anyone but Hannah, Ella and you those drawings, so I guess we’re keeping each other’s secrets, right?”
“And secrets they will remain for now,” Ray-Lynn said. The thing was, Sarah had eyes like a hawk. Maybe all artists did. Though Ray-Lynn had tried to hide it, her Amish friend had picked up on the fact that she was smitten with Jack Freeman. “You just keep that offer about the mural in mind now,” she urged Sarah. “I’d pay you well for your time if we can just get permission from your powers-that-be around here.”
“Can I take this copy of the paper to show the arson investigator?”
“Why, sure. But if you don’t want to be interviewed, better steer clear of the Esh place. I think a camera crew and a few others went out there to talk to him—oops, more customers to be seated.”
“I’m supposed to take some things to the Eshes, a chicken dinner when Mamm and Lizzie get it ready.”
Though
