was a hot cup of coffee. Joe always left a pot on the back of the stove so Carl could help himself.
He opened the front door and stopped dead in his tracks. An Amish woman stood at the kitchen sink. She had her back to him as she rummaged for something. She hadn’t heard him come in.
He resisted the intense impulse to rush back outside. He didn’t like being shut inside with anyone. He fought his growing discomfort. This was Joe’s home. This woman didn’t belong here.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. Joe didn’t like anyone besides Carl in his house.
She shrieked and jumped a foot as she whirled around to face him. She pressed a hand to her heaving chest, leaving a patch of white soapsuds on her faded green dress. “You scared the life out of me.”
He clenched his fists and stared at his feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Who are you? You’re not Joseph Shetler. I was told this was Joseph’s house.”
He glanced up and saw the defiant jut of her jaw. He folded his arms over his chest and pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn’t say a word as he glared at her.
She was a slender little thing. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his chin unless she stood on tiptoe. She was dressed Plain in a drab faded green calf-length dress with a matching cape and apron. She wore dark stockings and dark shoes. Her hair, on the other hand, was anything but drab. It was ginger-red and wisps of it curled near her temples and along her forehead. The rest was hidden beneath the black kapp she wore. Her eyes were an unusual hazel color with flecks of gold in their depths.
He didn’t recognize her, but she could be a local. He made a point of avoiding people, so it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know her.
She quickly realized he wasn’t going to speak until she had answered his questions. She managed a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. My name is Elizabeth Barkman. People call me Lizzie. I’m Joe’s granddaughter from Indiana. I was just straightening up a little while I waited for him to get home.”
As far as Carl knew, Joe didn’t have any family. “Joe doesn’t have a granddaughter, and he doesn’t like people in his house.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as the need to escape the house left them shaking.
“Actually, he has four granddaughters. I can see why he doesn’t like to have people in. This place is a mess. He certainly could use a housekeeper. I know an excellent one who is looking for a position.”
Carl glanced around Joe’s kitchen. It was cluttered and dirty, unlike the clean and sparsely furnished shepherd’s hut out in the pasture where he lived, but if Joe wanted to live like this, that was his business and not the business of this nosy, pushy woman. “This is how Joe likes it. You should leave.”
“Where is my grandfather? Will he be back soon?” Her eyes darted around the room. He could see fear creeping in behind them. It had dawned on her that they were alone together on a remote farm.
Suddenly, he saw another room, dark and full of women huddled together. He could smell the fear in the air. They were all staring at him.
He blinked hard and the image vanished. His heart started pounding. The room began closing in on him. He needed air. He needed out. He’d seen enough fear in women’s eyes to haunt him for a lifetime. He didn’t need to add to that tally. He took a quick step back. “Joe will be along shortly.” Turning, he started to open the door.
She said, “I didn’t catch your name. Are you a friend of my grandfather’s?”
He paused and gripped the doorknob tightly so she wouldn’t see his hand shaking. “I’m Carl King. I work here.” He walked out before she could ask anything else.
Once he was outside under the open sky, his sense of panic receded. He drew a deep, cleansing breath. His tremors grew less with each gulp of air he took. His pounding heart rate slowed.
It had been weeks since one of his spells. He’d started to believe they were gone for good, that perhaps God had forgiven him, but Joe’s granddaughter had proved him wrong.
His dog trotted to his side and nosed his hand. He managed a little smile. “I’m okay, Duncan.”
The dog whined. He seemed to know when his master was troubled. Carl focused on the silky feel of the dog’s thick fur between his fingers. It helped ground him in the here and now and push back the shadows of the past.
That past lay like a beast inside him. The terror lurked, ready to spring out and drag him into the nightmares he suffered through nearly every night. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have accepted death with peace in his heart, secure in the knowledge of God’s love and eternal salvation. He hadn’t.
He had his life, for what it was worth, but no peace.
Joe came into sight driving his wagon and team of draft horses. The wagon bed held two dozen bales of straw. He pulled the big dappled gray horses to a stop beside Carl. “Did you get that ewe penned and doctored?”
“I did.”
“Goot. We’ll get this hay stored in the big shed so we can have it handy to spread in the lambing pens when we need it. We can unload it as soon as I’ve had a bite to eat and a cup of coffee. Did you leave me any?”
“I haven’t touched the pot. You have a visitor inside.”
A small elderly man with a long gray beard and a dour expression, Joe climbed down from the wagon slowly. To Carl’s eyes, he had grown frailer this past year. A frown creased his brow beneath the brim of the flat-topped straw hat he wore. He didn’t like visitors. “Who is it?”
“She claims she’s your granddaughter Lizzie Barkman.”
All the color drained from Joe’s face. He staggered backward until he bumped into the wheel of his wagon. “One of my daughter’s girls? What does she want?”
Carl took a quick step toward Joe and grasped his elbow to steady him. “She didn’t say. Are you okay?”
Joe shook off Carl’s hand. “I’m fine. Put the horses away.”
“Sure.” Carl was used to Joe’s brusque manners.
Joe nodded his thanks and began walking toward the house with unsteady steps. Carl waited until he had gone inside before leading the team toward the corral at the side of the barn. He’d worked with Joe for nearly four years. The old man had never mentioned he had a daughter and granddaughters.
Carl glanced back at the house. Joe wasn’t the only one who kept secrets. Carl had his own.
Chapter Two
Lizzie had rehearsed a dozen different things to say when she first saw her grandfather, but his hired man’s abrupt appearance had rattled her already frayed nerves. When her grandfather actually walked through the door, everything she had planned to say left her head. She stood silently as he looked her up and down.
He had changed a great deal from what she remembered. She used to think he was tall, but he was only average height and stooped with age. His beard was longer and streaked with
