Page 28 of Fallen

Now that Rachael was gone, Loretta worried not only about the horror of her death and the fate of her soul, but the secrets Rachael had taken with her to her grave.

“Mamm, I bumped the bott boi and a piece of crust broke off the side.” Potpie.

At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Loretta glanced over from her driving. Even embroiled in dark thoughts she had no business thinking on such a pretty spring morning, she smiled at the sight of her sweet face. “Let me see,” she said.

Fannie lifted the foil covering and pointed. Sure enough, a chunk of the lard crust had chipped off the side of one of the sausage and potato pot pies she’d made a little before five A.M.

“Looks like a little mouse sampled a piece of that crust,” Loretta said.

Fannie grinned. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, in that case just press it back together,” Loretta told her. “No one at Mary’s house will even notice.”

They were in the buggy and traveling at a good clip down the township road. Around them, the pastures were astoundingly green, the trees in the woods bursting into bud, and the entire countryside was rife with birdsong. After such a long and cold winter, Loretta appreciated the gentle day.

She glanced away from her driving. A smile touched her mouth as she watched the girl press the wayward piece of crust back into place. “If we had some milk, we could glue it,” Loretta told her.

She was probably taking too much food over to Mary and her family. But having a baby was a busy and exhausting time. And Loretta loved them so much. She was hoping to help with a chore or two while she was there, if Mary would allow it.

She was so enmeshed in her thoughts, Loretta didn’t notice the car blocking the road until she was nearly upon it.

“Whoa!” she called to the horse.

The animal stopped so abruptly its steel shoes slid on the asphalt.

“Mamm?”

Loretta felt her daughter’s questioning gaze on her as she backed the horse up a couple of steps. She watched the driver’s-side door open. Her heart sank when he stepped out. She sat stone-still, the leather lines taut in her hands.

Taking his time, the man started toward them.

“Tuck that foil back around the bott boi,” she said to Fannie, more to keep her occupied than because the potpie needed covering.

“Nice morning for a buggy ride,” the Englischer said as he reached them.

Loretta said nothing. She could barely bring herself to look at him. Or breathe. She knew what he’d see in her eyes if she did. Fear. Knowledge. Secrets. She’d seen him around town dozens of times over the years, and she cringed every time. She knew it was wrong to have such thoughts, but she didn’t like him.

She knew things about this man. Things she didn’t want to know. She had no idea if he remembered her. If he knew she and Rachael had been friends. Regardless, she went out of her way to avoid him.

“Hi there, young lady,” he said to Fannie.

The sight of him looking at her daughter unnerved Loretta. Before she could react, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a package of chocolate-covered peanuts. The kind you could buy at the grocery-store checkout. He extended his hand and offered it to the girl. “You like chocolate?” he asked. “These are my favorite.”

Fannie nodded, her hand going up to take the candy. Quickly, Loretta snatched up the potpie, shoved it into her daughter’s hands. “Take this and put it in the back seat,” she said in Deitsch. “We don’t want to lose any more of that delicious crust now, do we?”

Curious about the Englischer, the girl hesitated before taking the pie.

Loretta gave her a helpful little push. “Go on now. Get back there. Make sure the foil stays on that casserole, too. Hold it on your lap so it doesn’t bounce around too much.”

As the girl climbed into the back seat with the pie, Loretta forced her gaze to the man standing next to the buggy, trying in vain to ignore the chill lodged in her spine.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Cute kid.” He watched Fannie settle onto the back seat. “Going to be pretty when she grows up,” he said. “Like you.”

Loretta looked down at her hands, tried not to notice they were shaking, and loosened her grip on the leather lines.

“Kids are innocent when they’re that age,” he drawled. “What is she? Ten? Twelve?” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I got four at home. Two boys. Two girls. And another on the way. Boy do they keep me and my wife busy.” He shrugged. “Childhood is an important time. For Amish kids, too, huh?”