the other two in carrying jugs and cups to Sarah’s buggy.
“I looked for Gus Hill.” Sarah cleared her throat and took another gulp of water. “No sign of him.”
“He’s never one to hang around if there’s trouble,” Miriam said darkly. “I don’t know what Julia Everly pays him for looking after the place for her, but he’s not worth it, that’s certain sure.”
Reluctant as she was to speak ill of anyone, Sarah had to admit that Miriam was most likely right. Gus was a fixture in the township, well known for his talent for getting by on the least possible effort.
By the time the buggy was loaded, Ben and the boys had already taken off in the wagon. The wail of a siren pierced the air. The fire truck roared by, followed by the usual cars and trucks carrying extra volunteers. Most of the able-bodied men in the area belonged to the volunteer fire company, both Amish and Englisch. Like Aaron King.
Sarah shoved the name to the back of her mind as she and Miriam drove Sarah’s buggy in the wake of the volunteers. She had no right to be more concerned for Aaron than for any other of her Amish brethren. Now if she could only convince herself of that fact...
By the time they reached the Everly property, the barn was fully engulfed. Figures in yellow protective gear swarmed around it, but Sarah could see they were more intent on keeping the fire from spreading than on trying to save the structure. It was too late for that.
Molly whinnied, shaking her head nervously, so Sarah led her a short distance away and tethered her to a tree. Miriam had shoved a folding table into the buggy, behind the seat. They pulled it out and began setting thermoses and jugs on it.
Scanning the firefighters, all so alike in their gear, Sarah couldn’t deny she was searching for Aaron. She caught a glimpse of a chestnut-colored beard, and her breath went out in an involuntary sigh of relief. He was there, of course, and he was safe. That slighter figure next to him was probably his teenage brother, Jonah. Aaron would be keeping a close eye on the boy.
The barn roof collapsed with a roar and a shower of embers, and for a few minutes the scene reminded Sarah of an angry beehive as the volunteers fought to extinguish the flying sparks.
Miriam caught her hand, and Sarah realized the woman was watching her husband. Ben leaned on his shovel, coughing, but a moment later he’d straightened and was back at work.
Finally the barn was nothing more than a sullen black heap, still sending smoke and fumes into the air. In twos and threes the firefighters began drifting over to the table, and Sarah and Miriam were suddenly busy pouring out drinks.
“Sarah?” The sound of her name had her turning.
Mac Whiting, Laurel Ridge’s police chief, stood behind her, pulling a notebook from his pocket. He looked very official in his blue uniform with a weapon at his hip, and only the fact that she’d known him since childhood kept her from retreating into the usual Amish reticence when confronted with Englisch officials.
“Some coffee, Mac?”
He shook his head. “Save it for the guys who did all the work.” He snapped his pen. “I understand you called in the fire.”
“I was on my way to town. To the shop,” she added, although Mac would know that well enough. “I saw the smoke before I came around the bend, and then I saw the flames. In the back, the fire was, then,” she said, pointing.
“So you went over to Ben and Miriam’s to call?” He jotted the information down, though what good it would do anyone, she didn’t know.
“Ja. But I checked first to see if Gus was here. I pounded on the cottage door. No answer, but I was afraid he was asleep, maybe.”
Mac grinned. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it. I take it you didn’t see him.”
“The door wasn’t locked, so I checked inside, but the cottage was empty. Then I feared he might be in the barn.” Sarah seemed to feel the heat on her face again. “I looked, but no—”
“You never go near a burning building!” Aaron King was suddenly at her side, looking as if he’d like to shake her. “Ach, Sarah, whatever were you thinking?”
His obvious concern warmed Sarah’s heart despite the fact that he was looking at her as if she were an erring child.
“I was thinking same as you would have,” she said, her voice tart. “If someone was lying there in danger, I couldn’t just go away. And don’t go telling me I shouldn’t have, because I had to.”
Aaron’s hand closed around her wrist for an instant, and her breath caught. Then he let go, shaking his head, his brown eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “You always were a stubborn one, Sarah Bitler. Quiet, but stubborn.”
Too quiet, she couldn’t help thinking. If she’d given him even a hint of what she felt, all those years ago, would it have made a difference?
“It’s just as well she looked, or we’d have thought there was a body in there.” Mac sounded practical. “We might have known Gus wouldn’t be anywhere around when there was trouble.”
That seemed to be the unanimous opinion of Gus.
“Julia Everly is going to be so upset.” Sarah pictured the tart-tongued elderly woman. “She never would let go of this property, because her husband used to love coming out here. And now that she’s laid herself up with a broken leg, she’ll really be fretting.”
“You mean she’ll be calling me every five minutes to find out what progress I’m making,” Mac said.
Sarah looked at him blankly. “Calling you? Why?”
“I’m the local fire marshal, remember? I’m supposed to have answers.”
“Ja, but what could you do?” she asked. “The firefighters did their best. At least they kept the blaze from spreading. As dry as it’s been, it’s lucky the woods didn’t catch.”
“It’s not about that.” Mac frowned. “Look around you, Sarah. There’s not a cloud in the sky. No lightning to set it off. Nothing combustible stored in the barn. No electricity, even. So how did the barn catch fire to begin with?”
Arson. She felt Aaron stiffen next to her. The word didn’t have to be said aloud to chill the blood.
* * *
SARAH FINALLY MADE it to town by early afternoon. Instead of heading straight for the quilt shop, she drove the buggy down a quiet residential street. Her business partner, Allison Standish, would have things in hand at the shop, and Sarah felt compelled to visit Julia Everly. The elderly woman would certain sure be upset by the fire.
After tying the mare to a convenient porch railing at the modern ranch-style house, Sarah walked to the front door, mentally rehearsing soothing words. Julia was normally the feistiest of eightysomething women, but being confined to a chair by a heavy cast on her leg had taken some of the starch out of her. Sarah had stopped by the previous week, bringing an apple crumb pie her mamm had made, and had found Julia surprisingly subdued.
The door opened almost before Sarah had touched the doorbell. “Oh. It’s you, Sarah.” Donna Edwards, a distant cousin of Julia’s
