she lifted her key fob and aimed it in the general direction of the car and hit the alarm button. The sudden silence deafened her. Even the crickets were mute. She glanced back toward her mother’s dark residence. Apparently, the noise hadn’t disturbed her.
Hannah debated about returning to the house, but decided to quickly check on her car. She rounded the corner of the barn, and the beam of a flashlight blinded her. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she turned to run.
“Wait.” A deep, commanding voice vibrated through her.
Hannah didn’t wait. She had to put distance between herself and the man trespassing on the farm. She was out here alone. She had to protect the girls. She bolted toward the house, calculating how she’d reach the girls’ room and wedge something against the door.
She stumbled in a wagon wheel rut and pitched forward. Crying out in panic, she braced herself. Pain shot up the heels of her hands as they met the earth. Her knees slammed down hard on the packed dirt.
“Miss Wittmer, it’s Sheriff Maxwell.”
On all fours, Hannah dropped her head in relief. She pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt from her palms and her pj’s. She spun around. “What are you doing? You scared me to death.”
“What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be wandering alone outside.” The sheriff arched the beam of the flashlight across her dirty pj bottoms and her University at Buffalo T-shirt, complete with boots she obviously should have laced up.
“Don’t answer my question with a question.” Hannah crossed her arms and huffed. She had a tad more confidence in her English pj’s than she had wearing her sister’s Amish dress. No one expected her to fake Amish while she slept, did they?
“I was patrolling the area and heard the alarm.” Sheriff Maxwell flicked his flashlight toward her vehicle. “Yours?”
She didn’t bother to answer the obvious. He tossed back the tarp, revealing her three-year-old Chevy Malibu. “Someone slashed your tires.”
Hannah plowed a hand through her hair, and a mix of annoyance, resignation and fear wound their way up her spine. “Did you see anyone?”
The sheriff shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
She glared at him skeptically. “Why are you lurking around here?”
“I’m not lurking. I’m doing my job.” An annoyingly coy smile played on his lips.
“If you were doing your job—” she held out her hand toward her car, the one with twenty-seven remaining car payments “—then this would have never happened.”
“Fair enough.” His smooth voice rolled over her. “But doesn’t it make you feel better to know I’m not far away if you need me?”
Hannah smoothed the tarp back over her car. “Let’s be clear about something. I don’t need anyone.”
He seemed to give her a once-over. “That’s debatable.”
Hannah swept her hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a rubber band from her wrist. “Fair enough.” She repeated his words. “I am glad you’re here. Find out who did this. But make sure you’re not lurking around too much. I don’t want the neighbors talking. They already give me enough grief.”
Hannah spun around—her snippiness fueled more from her adrenaline-soaked nerves than from anger—and marched up to the house, keenly aware that Sheriff Maxwell was watching her.
* * *
The next morning, Hannah slipped into her sister’s black Amish dress, an outward sign she was grieving. She peeked in on her sleeping nieces and decided to check on Mem. Through the screen door of the adjacent dawdy haus, Hannah saw her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. When Hannah knocked, her mother pushed back from the worn pine table slowly. Hannah couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw her mother wince.
“Are you okay?” The screen door squeaked, and Hannah stepped into the small space. Memories crowded in on her. Hannah had spent long hours here visiting her own grandmother. Her mammy was the one person who loved her unconditionally. When Mammy died shortly before Hannah turned sixteen, Hannah had found herself rudderless between an overdemanding father and a too-passive mother.
“Tired is all.” Her mother waved away her daughter’s concerns. “Would you like coffee?” She took a step toward the stove.
“No, I can’t stay long. I want to make sure I’m in the house when Emma and Sarah wake up.”
Her mother shook her head in disbelief. She did that a lot since Ruthie died.
“Did you hear the commotion outside last night?”
Her mother paused. “Commotion?”
“My car alarm went off.” She omitted the part about the slashed tires. She hated to add to her mother’s grief.
“Neh.” Her mouth pursed her lips. “My hearing is neh gut.”
Hannah leaned against the counter and watched her mother slowly sit back down. Her mother took a sip of coffee then touched her head. “Your kapp.”
Hannah tugged on her apron with both hands. “But I’m wearing a dress.”
Her mother looked down without saying anything, renewed disappointment etched in her pale features. An expression Hannah had seen many times. An expression that had both frustrated and confused Hannah as a teenager. Why didn’t her mother say what she meant?
“Mem, I came back for Sarah and Emma...and you.” Hannah pulled out the chair across from her mother and sat. She angled her head to see into her mother’s eyes. “I don’t know what my future holds.”
Her mother lifted her brows. “Your sister said you were coming home.” Her hopeful tone broke Hannah’s heart.
Hannah dipped her chin, surprise making her momentarily speechless. “Ruthie told you about our visits?” Ruthie had sworn her to secrecy.
Her mother nodded. “Yah.” She fingered the handle of the coffee mug. “Are you ready to be baptized Amish? Find a nice Amish boy and marry? Maybe next year you can prepare—”
“No.” The single word came out sharp, angry. Hannah flattened her palms on the table and drew in a calming breath and said more softly, “Not yet, Mem. Not yet.” Hannah scratched her forehead. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t happy in Buffalo.” She was lonely and didn’t enjoy her job, but she hadn’t decided to return to the Amish way of life. Not permanently anyway. She was toying with the idea. Searching for happiness. Wondering out loud to her sister if she had been naive in her decision to leave the Amish community in the first place.
Perhaps saying as much to please her sister.
Or perhaps, in a way, dissuading her sister from making any big decisions that would alter her life irrevocably. As Hannah’s decision had forever changed her life.
Hannah covered her mother’s hand. “I’m here for the short-term until I know the girls are okay. Please, don’t get your
