him, but he couldn’t let the gangster escape, either. He’d never be safe until Kavanaugh was out of the way.
Killer Kavanaugh never gave up until he had his revenge.
And then Bram had come up with this new, harebrained idea. It seemed like such a good idea in Chicago—go undercover as himself, Bram Lapp, the green Amish kid from Indiana.
But he wasn’t green anymore. He had seen and done things the Amish kid he had been couldn’t imagine. He had the skills to keep himself alive on the Chicago streets, but would those same skills be useful to him here as he hunted for Kavanaugh’s new center of operations? They had to be.
Bram whooshed out a breath. Meanwhile, here he was slipping away into the life he had left twelve years ago. It wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. The deeper he went into this cover, the more he was losing the edge he needed to keep him alive. But without the cover, without immersing himself into this community, it would be impossible to fade into the background the way he needed to.
And there was only one way to fade into this background: he needed to look and act the same as every other Amishman around. Any difference would make him stick out like a sore thumb.
The list. He ticked off the items in his mind as he walked. He had bought the buggy and horse. Next would be a place to farm, equipment and workhorses, and church every other Sunday. And clothes. This drape suit that helped him blend in on Chicago’s West Side stuck out too much around here. Besides, his jacket was ruined after sliding in the dirt with that little Amish girl.
That little girl was something else. So much like his younger sisters at that age...
Bram took off his felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the air to his scalp. Why did remembering his sisters make him think of a wife and a family?
The curve of Ellie Miller’s neck eased into his thoughts. He closed his eyes to capture the moment she’d faced him on her back porch. One strand of soft brown hair had escaped from under her kapp and fallen softly along the side of her face. She’d have to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. What would it feel like if he did it for her? He saw the smile she would give him as he caressed her cheek....
Bram stopped the direction of his thoughts with a firm shake of his head. He knew a woman like that wouldn’t even look at him. Not Bram Lapp. Not with his past. And not with the job he had to do. No, a woman like that wasn’t for him. He’d rather take his chances alone.
Wheels crunching through the gravel on the road behind him made Bram sidestep into the cover of some overhanging branches. Buggy wheels and horse’s hooves, not a car. He rolled his shoulders as he waited for the buggy to overtake him. He had to stop being so jumpy. No one knew he was here. Even Peters only had a vague idea of the direction he had gone.
“Bram!”
Bram waved as the buggy caught up to him, and his brother-in-law pulled the horse to a halt.
“You’ll be wanting a ride.” Matthew was a man to get to his point quickly.
“Ja, denki.”
The back of the buggy held boxes of supplies, and a frantic peeping rose from one as the buggy lurched forward.
“You bought some chicks?”
“Ja. I thought the Yoders might have some to trade for a couple bales of hay.” Matthew looked at Bram with a grin. “Annie loves getting new chicks.”
Bram let this idea settle in his mind. His sister hadn’t asked for chicks, as far as he knew. Matthew had gotten them because he thought Annie might like them. Was that how a real husband acted?
“Did you find the Stoltzfus farm?” Matthew asked.
“Ja. John had a nice gelding for sale, just as you said. I’ll pick him up on Tuesday.”
“I knew John would take care of you. He’s a good man.”
“Ja, he is.”
A good man. Bram hadn’t known too many of those. He slid a glance at Matthew. His little sister had found a good man.
Matthew pointed ahead with the buggy whip. “Looks like the Jackson place is for sale. It might be the kind of place you’ve been looking for.”
He stopped the horse at the end of the lane. The for-sale sign at the roadside looked new, but the graying barn and leaning fence posts were witness to the toll the recent hard times had taken on the English farmers. Forty acres, the sign said, along with the name of the bank that held the foreclosure. A too-familiar sign these past few years.
“The Jackson place? Do you know why they lost the farm?”
“I’m not sure, but I could see it coming. Ralph Jackson was too quick to spend his money as soon as he sold his crops, and then he’d buy the next year’s seed on credit. He only owned the place about five years, but it was long enough to work it into the ground.”
“It’s vacant. Let’s look around.”
Matthew pulled the buggy into the lane, and they walked to the barn. Bram examined the siding, the beams and the fences. The barn needed a lot of work, but the structure was sound.
“Forty acres is a good size,” Matthew said, looking at the land around them. “There’s a creek running through the meadow. Good cropland, too, with the right management.”
Bram turned to the house. It might be livable with some work, but he had the time. He needed a farm, and this one fit. All he had to do was go to the bank, sign the papers and hand over the cash, and it would be his. Another item checked off his list.
“The bank on the sign—isn’t it in Goshen?”
“Ja. I won’t be using my buggy tomorrow. You could take it into town if you want to talk to them about it.”
“I’ll go in the morning, first thing.”
Then again, maybe not first thing. This might be another opportunity to get John Stoltzfus firmly on his side, and he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He could stop by the Stoltzfus farm before he headed into Goshen tomorrow. A little more grease wouldn’t hurt, and besides, old John was pretty savvy. He’d have some good pointers on how to get this farm back on its feet.
It wouldn’t hurt to get another glimpse of Ellie, either. Even if she wasn’t for him, she was sure a beautiful doll, and looking didn’t cost a thing.
* * *
Ellie’s toes churned the loose black soil between the strawberry rows, soil that ran in muddy rivers as she splashed water on each plant. Her practiced steps kept just ahead of the mud, and she tipped the watering can in time to an Englisch hymn she had learned in school.
“‘I once was lost, but now am found...’” The fourth row finished, she stopped to ease her aching muscles and looked back at her work.
Ach, even with daily watering, the plants were barely alive. This hot, dry spell was unusual for May. One good rain would set the young plants off to a good start, but as Ellie glanced up at the clear blue sky, she knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Until then, it was up to her to keep them alive. She started down the next
