muster.
The question she saw behind his large hazel eyes made its way past his lips in short order. “So where were you just now when I walked up?”
She looked again at the fields in the distance, shrugging as she did. “I wasn’t really anywhere. Just enjoying the view and finding it immensely relaxing.”
“Long day?”
She felt him studying the side of her face as she contemplated her answer. Did she tell him she was disappointed in the way he bailed out of their time together the day before with nary an explanation? Or did she move on, coming to terms with the fact that she’d put far more importance on their fence-fixing mission than she’d allowed herself to believe?
Move on . . .
Lifting her hand from her lap, she waved it toward the Amish countryside now slowly disappearing in the gathering dusk. “I wish it could be like that around here all the time. There’s more than enough real world everywhere else.”
She didn’t need to look at him to know his gaze had left her face. She could feel its absence like a tangible thing. “Claire, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m terrified of where this case might take me, because I am. I got into police work because I wanted to help people—both Amish and English, alike. But if this case plays out in the way I’m dreading it might, that work will lead me to hurt the people I love in ways I can’t ever erase.”
“But Jakob, if, by chance, your father
did
kill Harley, the consequences will be on
his
actions, not yours.” Hiking her bent leg onto the swing, she pivoted her body so as to face him. “Please, Jakob, tell me you know this. Tell me you believe this.”
“But Mose is my dat, Claire. My
dat
. No one wants to arrest their dat and see him locked away for the rest of his life for murdering a good and decent man.”
She grabbed hold of his hand and held it tight, the coolness of his skin surprising. “If that happens, Jakob, it’s not because you told him to do it. He will have made that decision all on his own.”
“A decision he was led to by me.”
She stopped the swing with her opposite foot. “Led to by you?” she gasped. “How on earth could you even
think
that let alone say it?”
“Because it would be true?” Gently, he disengaged his hand and ran it down his face in despair. “C’mon, Claire, think about it. Mose’s hatred of Harley began sixteen years ago when I broke the vow I made at baptism in order to help solve his brother’s murder. If I hadn’t done that, Mose never would have become so bitter, so”—he stopped, swallowed—“so
hateful
.”
“Mose is bitter because he chose to be bitter,” she protested. “Look, you know I have the utmost respect for the Amish. I love so many things about the way they live, their respect for God and the land. But you have to know that I think the way they treat you is awful. You didn’t leave to become some sort of drug dealer. You didn’t leave because you wanted to get into a business that would bilk innocent people of their hard-earned money. You got out so you could become a police officer.” She hooked her finger underneath his chin and guided his focus until it was squarely on her face. “A
police officer
, Jakob. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty about. If anything,
they
do. For turning their backs on such an honorable man.”
For just a split second she saw it—the kind of raw emotion and heartfelt appreciation that no words could ever do justice. Yet, as quick as it came, it was gone, hidden behind a set of beliefs no amount of time in the English world could ever stamp from his makeup. “I knew the consequences of my decision, Claire. And I left, anyway. The repercussions are mine alone.”
“Fine. But Mose’s decision to kill another man is not one of them.” At Jakob’s noticeable slump, she altered her words to include the subordinating conjunction she knew he needed to hear. “
If
Mose is even the one responsible at
The question she saw behind his large hazel eyes made its way past his lips in short order. “So where were you just now when I walked up?”
She looked again at the fields in the distance, shrugging as she did. “I wasn’t really anywhere. Just enjoying the view and finding it immensely relaxing.”
“Long day?”
She felt him studying the side of her face as she contemplated her answer. Did she tell him she was disappointed in the way he bailed out of their time together the day before with nary an explanation? Or did she move on, coming to terms with the fact that she’d put far more importance on their fence-fixing mission than she’d allowed herself to believe?
Move on . . .
Lifting her hand from her lap, she waved it toward the Amish countryside now slowly disappearing in the gathering dusk. “I wish it could be like that around here all the time. There’s more than enough real world everywhere else.”
She didn’t need to look at him to know his gaze had left her face. She could feel its absence like a tangible thing. “Claire, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m terrified of where this case might take me, because I am. I got into police work because I wanted to help people—both Amish and English, alike. But if this case plays out in the way I’m dreading it might, that work will lead me to hurt the people I love in ways I can’t ever erase.”
“But Jakob, if, by chance, your father
did
kill Harley, the consequences will be on
his
actions, not yours.” Hiking her bent leg onto the swing, she pivoted her body so as to face him. “Please, Jakob, tell me you know this. Tell me you believe this.”
“But Mose is my dat, Claire. My
dat
. No one wants to arrest their dat and see him locked away for the rest of his life for murdering a good and decent man.”
She grabbed hold of his hand and held it tight, the coolness of his skin surprising. “If that happens, Jakob, it’s not because you told him to do it. He will have made that decision all on his own.”
“A decision he was led to by me.”
She stopped the swing with her opposite foot. “Led to by you?” she gasped. “How on earth could you even
think
that let alone say it?”
“Because it would be true?” Gently, he disengaged his hand and ran it down his face in despair. “C’mon, Claire, think about it. Mose’s hatred of Harley began sixteen years ago when I broke the vow I made at baptism in order to help solve his brother’s murder. If I hadn’t done that, Mose never would have become so bitter, so”—he stopped, swallowed—“so
hateful
.”
“Mose is bitter because he chose to be bitter,” she protested. “Look, you know I have the utmost respect for the Amish. I love so many things about the way they live, their respect for God and the land. But you have to know that I think the way they treat you is awful. You didn’t leave to become some sort of drug dealer. You didn’t leave because you wanted to get into a business that would bilk innocent people of their hard-earned money. You got out so you could become a police officer.” She hooked her finger underneath his chin and guided his focus until it was squarely on her face. “A
police officer
, Jakob. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty about. If anything,
they
do. For turning their backs on such an honorable man.”
For just a split second she saw it—the kind of raw emotion and heartfelt appreciation that no words could ever do justice. Yet, as quick as it came, it was gone, hidden behind a set of beliefs no amount of time in the English world could ever stamp from his makeup. “I knew the consequences of my decision, Claire. And I left, anyway. The repercussions are mine alone.”
“Fine. But Mose’s decision to kill another man is not one of them.” At Jakob’s noticeable slump, she altered her words to include the subordinating conjunction she knew he needed to hear. “
If
Mose is even the one responsible at
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