Rachel returned to the Jeep. “Ms. Glidden? Sorry about that. Thank you for returning my call.”
“Call me Irene. My father’s a Quaker, and . . . well, let’s say I’m more comfortable on a first-name basis. Have you found anyone to represent Moses Studer?”
“No, I haven’t. I was hoping that you’d consider taking the case.”
“I’m setting up an appointment with Mr. Studer first thing tomorrow morning. Provided, of course, that he still needs representation.”
“Oh, he needs it, all right. You come highly recommended.” Rachel pulled the car door closed behind her. She must have left the door open when she’d gone to speak to Hulda on the lawn because one of the barn cats was curled up on the passenger’s seat beside her. She couldn’t blame the cat. The heater was a good one, and it was rapidly getting nippy outside.
“I come highly recommended because of my record or because my grandparents were Amish?” Irene chuckled. “A private joke. I represent a lot of Plain people, Amish and Mennonite, that is. Truthfully, most of my practice is real estate and civil matters, but I have an extensive record, first as a public defender for the state of Pennsylvania, and then as associate and partner in a prominent law firm in Harrisburg before I moved home and opened my own office. I’m not promising that I’ll take the case. I want to speak with Moses first.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Rachel said. “But I have to be honest with you. I’m working on securing funds for Moses’s defense, but it may take some time. The family may not be in a position to pay you.”
“We can work out something later if I definitely come onboard. My Amish grandparents? Just between us, their farm is an amazing source of natural gas. It paid for my education, my brothers’ and cousins’ educations, and it continues to provide the foundation for my law practice. God has been good to my family, and I do my best to share some of those blessings.”
Rachel took a deep breath. “Irene, I think you may be the answer to my prayers.”
“If an old Quaker hippie can qualify as that.” Irene laughed. “Now, give me a quick rundown on Moses’s problem.”
The two talked for another twenty minutes and then Irene said she had another call coming in. She promised to get back one way or another, and the conversation ended on a friendly note. Please, God, Rachel prayed silently as she got out of her Jeep. Let this woman be the one we’re looking for.
Rachel was halfway to the house when her phone rang again. Thinking it was Irene with another question, she answered without checking the caller ID. It was Babs from the bridal shop.
“You are impossible to catch up with,” Babs jabbered, never letting Rachel get beyond hello. “I call both your phones and leave messages. I text but you never get back to me except to tell me you’ll get back to me. And that Hostetler girl isn’t any better. I’ve got an opening, a cancellation, really. Tomorrow morning at ten. Can you make it?”
“Tomorrow morning?” Rachel tried to remember if she had anything else scheduled. “I think so.”
“You have to make it or my seamstress can’t promise that the gown will be finished on time. Tomorrow, Miss Mast. Please don’t disappoint us again. You wouldn’t believe how many December weddings we have. Our schedule is jammed. Be here tomorrow at ten sharp.”
“Love you, too,” Rachel murmured after she disconnected and slid her phone into her pocket. She was beginning to wish she had just convinced Evan to elope.
Inside the kitchen door, she took off her coat and scarf. She hung them on the hook and glanced into the dining room to see if any of her guests were in there.
All seemed quiet, so she opened the refrigerator to see what Ada had left for her. She wanted to take time for a long, hot shower, and she wanted to check the computer for the new guests coming for the weekend before she tracked down Mrs. Morris and invited her to the concert.
A turkey sandwich, cranberry sauce, and German potato salad waited on a blue-and-white pottery plate. Perfect, Rachel thought. Ada might be as prickly as a porcupine, but what would she do without her?
Rachel poured a tall glass of milk and took her meal into the small parlor where she’d spoken with Moses’s mother. The supper smelled marvelous, and she’d spied an apple pie standing on the counter in a Siamese-proof glass cake dish. Not that Bishop would deign to eat people food. Roasted chicken hearts and canned tuna were his only deviation from the premium dry cat chow he favored. But her housekeeper was a cautious woman who was suspicious of all indoor cats.
Rachel had just lit the fire on the hearth when Evan’s ringtone made her smile and dive for the cell phone.
“Hey, hon, how’s it going?”
“It’s going. How about you?” she asked. “Safe and sound?”
“Safe and sound. A quiet evening, so far. Sorry I won’t be able to make the concert tonight.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you are.” Evan’s taste ran to country and western, rather than violins and piano, not to mention flute. “But I understand. Work has to come first. Did the baby arrive?”
“Not yet, not that I’ve heard.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that I have an appointment for my fitting tomorrow morning at ten a.m.”
“I’ll be pleased when you tell me you showed up for the appointment,” he replied dryly.
“I do love you.”
“Love you more.”
“I love you the most,” she responded. “The lawyer called. Irene Glidden. The one you suggested. She hasn’t agreed to take the case, but she’s going to talk to Moses tomorrow.”
“Pit-bull Glidden? She actually called you back? I told you that was a long shot. She’s a tough lady, a legend. I can’t tell you how many judge appointments she turned down. She’s
