“This will only take a minute, Lemuel,” she pressed.
He exhaled as he opened the door farther and reluctantly stepped aside to let her in.
A half glass of milk and a slice of raisin bread with one bite taken out of it sat on the table beside a jar of peanut butter. Apparently, Lemuel had been having a snack. Behind him, on the stove, a large pot simmered. Rachel smelled ham and cabbage cooking.
Rachel felt more uncomfortable than she had when she’d come to the house before. She wondered where Mary Rose and her mother had gone and wished they were here. Lemuel didn’t ask her to sit down, so she stood near the door and did her best to put him at ease. “As I said, this won’t take a minute,” she repeated, her voice sounding patronizing in her ears. “I just need to know . . . Remind me, who was it who found Daniel’s body?”
He looked at the floor and shrugged, his face the typical teenage mask of indifference. “Not sure.” He shrugged again and a bead of sweat formed on his upper lip. “Maybe it was Rosh.”
Now Rachel’s uneasiness multiplied. When she’d talked to Lemuel before, he’d never impressed her as . . . sneaky. That’s what he seemed like today, as if he was hiding something. “Then you have to tell the police detective that, because they think you discovered the body. It’s written in their report, Lemuel. I saw it.”
“Me?” His face blanched and then flushed. He scratched at an inflamed pimple on his neck and his fingernail drew blood.
Unconsciously, Rachel took a step back.
“It wasn’t me,” Lemuel protested. “Who told them that?” He glared at her. “That’s not true. Did you tell them that? That I found him?”
She backed up slowly toward the door. She wanted to question him further, but while she wasn’t frightened of this overgrown child, she was suddenly feeling very uneasy. The thought that Lemuel had lied—because he clearly had, she could see it on his face—made her stomach uneasy. Seeing his expression, she realized he may very well have been the one who killed his sister’s husband.
The realization that she might be standing alone in a kitchen on an isolated farm with a possible killer hit her hard. This was why Evan had asked her to stay out of the matter. Ultimately, he’d feared for her safety.
“Did you tell them that?” Lemuel repeated, his voice squeaky with anger. His eyes were suddenly no longer those of a child but of a man who’d seen too much.
“No, I didn’t tell them you found him. You told me you didn’t find him,” she hedged. “The police report is wrong, that’s all,” she backpedaled, knowing it really was time to let the police do their job. “Probably a clerical error.” She turned for the door.
“Wait.”
“Ne, I have to go,” she insisted. “I have to be somewhere. You tell the police what you told me, and I’m sure—”
“You shouldn’t say that.” Lemuel’s voice cracked.
Hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she sensed Lemuel’s desperation. Abruptly, she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open. She rushed through the doorway, babbling something about her cousin waiting for her. Her heart was pounding as she heard Lemuel’s loud footsteps behind her.
“Ne!” he cried.
Rachel had not taken three steps when she felt a blow to the back of her head. Oh, no, my hairdo, she thought, as the ground seemed to shift in front of her and rose. It will be ruined. I’ll have to have it done again before the wedding this afternoon.
She staggered and fell to her knees. She raised her hand to her head and touched something wet and sticky. She smelled the blood. The stone walkway swayed. I’m going to be sick, she thought.
And then the snowy ground came up to hit her.
* * *
Someone was crying.
Rachel blinked, trying to fight a wave of nausea.
She swallowed, opened her mouth to gasp for air. What was she lying on? Something scratchy . . . something . . . She smelled hay and dirt. Dirt was in her mouth . . . it tasted like dirt. The sound came again. A baby wailing? Ne, not a baby, a kalb bawling for its mother.
What was the word in English? she wondered.
She tried to open her eyes, but they felt so heavy; the task seemed impossible.
The back of her head felt as though it were on fire. It was hard to think. She turned her face to the side, feeling the cool earth through the scattered hay beneath her. At least the floor was still and not moving.
The kalb bellowed again. Calf, that’s what it was. The word was calf. What was a calf doing at her wedding? She was supposed to be at the church. Evan would be at the church . . . so why was she lying facedown on a barn floor? Her white gown would be ruined and her hair . . .
She tried to push herself up on her hands and knees, but she couldn’t get her hands . . .
Panic swept over Rachel as she realized that her hands and ankles were bound with lengths of baling twine. Why was she tied up?
She tried to wade through the fog in her mind. Tried to open her eyes. How had she gotten here? And where was here? Was she really in a barn? Was she dreaming?
No, the pain of being bound was real.
She inhaled deeply and sneezed. Definitely a barn. She could smell molasses
