“You know that I can’t go to that place to see my son,” Alma said, coming to sit across from her. “To that English jail.”
She was wearing a dark-green dress today with a starched white apron and a proper kapp. The green did nothing for her complexion. Alma looked bad, her skin color almost gray. Rachel wondered how old she was. If she’d married young and had Moses early, she might not be much older than Rachel herself, but she looked like a woman who had suffered greatly and worked hard. Many Amish women aged poorly, especially those from low-income households. And from what Rachel knew of her, Alma’s life had not been an easy one.
“I know I should go. He is my son,” Alma went on, “but I can’t bring myself to go in there with all those wicked people.”
“Not all so wicked,” Rachel reminded her. “Moses isn’t wicked.”
“Ne, he isn’t. But I’m afraid they will never let him leave that terrible place.” She reached for the now cooing baby. “You have a natural touch,” she said. “You will be a good mother.”
“I hope so,” Rachel said. She got to her feet. “I have to tell you, Alma, I’m afraid I failed you. You asked me to help your son and I’ve done my best, but—” She shook her head slowly.
Alma started to cry. The baby’s eyes widened and she started to sob as well.
“He didn’t do it,” Alma managed. “The police didn’t even investigate. They didn’t . . . didn’t ask so many questions . . . like you. They don’t care whether . . . whether my boy is guilty or not. I didn’t think it would be this way.”
Rachel walked over to stand beside her and put an arm around Alma’s bony shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” Rachel said. “So sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Mother?” Mary Rose came into the room. “Whatever is . . . Give me Baby.” She took the child from her mother. “Don’t, don’t cry. Tears will not help our Moses. Only prayer. God must help us.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel repeated. “I’ve gotten nowhere. And now, I’ve upset your mother terribly. Forgive me.” Still stammering apologies, she found her coat and let herself out of the house. She felt so awful. These women had depended on her and she’d let them down.
Sadly, she walked to her Jeep and got in. She was out of options, and two days from now she’d be married and on her way to her honeymoon. It was over and she’d failed. The taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue. Evan was right: She’d let Alma believe that she could do more than she’d delivered.
And instead of helping, she’d only made things worse.
Chapter 18
“Would you like another poppy seed muffin?” Rachel offered.
“Ya, and I definitely need more tea.” Mary Aaron carried the electric kettle to the bathroom and refilled it. Because she’d spent the night with her parents at the Hostetler home, she was wearing Amish clothing, minus her prayer kapp.
The two of them were having a late breakfast in Rachel’s apartment on the upper floor of the inn. Mary Aaron had been up before dawn to help with milking on her father’s farm. Rachel had risen at six, but neither had found time to eat.
“Earl Grey?” Mary Aaron asked as she padded back across the rug in her high black stockings. She’d left her shoes at the door. “Or would you rather have the Irish Blend?”
Outside, a blustery wind beat at the old stone house, but the sun had broken through the gray clouds and light poured through the multipaned windows, making the big room cheerful. Mary Aaron’s fair hair was pulled back into a bun, though tendrils escaped to spill over her ears and down her forehead. The cold weather had turned her cheeks and her freckled nose a glowing pink.
“Either. I don’t care. Just make it strong. I need the caffeine.” Rachel, in jeans, moccasins, and a flannel shirt, stood beside a window, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
The room, a combined seating area, bedchamber, and kitchenette, usually neat, was in chaos. The wedding rehearsal was at six that evening and Rachel was still trying to decide what to wear, plus she was in the midst of packing for her honeymoon and trying to pack for a place she’d never been. At least that was what she’d told Hulda she was doing when her neighbor came to take over management of Stone Mill House for the day. In reality, Rachel was contemplating running away to join a Buddhist monastery . . . or maybe a hippie commune . . . with Evan, of course. She wanted to go anywhere she wouldn’t be required to add more worries to the ones already troubling her.
The flowered dress that was in first place for the rehearsal hung over the bathroom door; the matching heels were under the bed. Rather, one was under the bed. Rachel couldn’t find the second one. Her wedding gown took up half of the closet. The shoes for the gown stood ready on the shelf above. A large suitcase was open on the bed, and Bishop had taken up residence there for the morning, settled contentedly amid the articles of clothing already consigned to the trip.
Evan was working again all day, which was for the best. Because, if she had spoken to him, they would probably quarrel so badly that they would have to back out of the wedding. Rachel’s nerves were on edge, so much so that she’d bitten her nails, something that she rarely did. Now she was trying to figure out when she could fit in a manicure.
“Won’t you at least come to the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Rachel begged. She’d wanted her cousin to be her maid of honor, but Mary Aaron had
