THREE

      “The playground certain sure looks different today, ain’t so?” Caleb tried to keep his voice cheerful as he and Rachel neared the auction on Saturday. Auctions were a common way of raising money for Amish schools, valued as much for their fellowship as for their fund-raising.

      Rachel clung a little tighter to his hand. “Ya,” she murmured.

      “We’ll bring something to Onkel Josiah when we leave, ya? Maybe a funnel cake or an apple dumpling.” Onkel Josiah had declined to come, since he was still hobbling around on crutches and fretting over his broken leg.

      Caleb’s voice sounded unnatural, even to himself, but maybe Rachel didn’t notice. At least she was staring, wide-eyed, at the tents and canopies that had sprung up overnight on the school grounds. Besides the auction going on inside the big tent, there were plenty of improvised stands selling food and drink, which seemed about as popular as the auction itself.

      A couple of Englisch teenagers passed them, and Rachel shrank against him. He put a hand protectively on her shoulder, a wave of dread washing over him. He’d been so sure this move would be good for his Rachel. Instead, it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

      Onkel Josiah’s offer had seemed a godsend. Caleb had been so eager to get Rachel away from the sad memories of her mother. But instead of making things better...

      The thought trailed off when he saw Teacher Sara coming toward them. She was holding the hand of a little girl who looked about Rachel’s age.

      Sara met his gaze and smiled, showing a dimple at the corner of her lips. With her rosy cheeks and those dancing green eyes, she looked hardly old enough to be a teacher, but he knew from Onkel Josiah that she was only a year or two younger than he was.

      She and the little girl came to a stop in front of them while he was still trying to decide if her hair was blond or brown or something in between. As if aware of his thoughts, she smoothed her hair back under her kapp with one hand.

      “Look, Becky, here’s Rachel. Now you’ll have someone just your age to walk around with.” Sara’s gaze met Caleb’s. “This is my niece, Becky, my brother’s girl. She’s been longing for another girl to walk around with, instead of her brothers.”

      He nodded to the child, who had a pert, lively face and hair a shade darker than Sara’s. Becky grinned at him and grabbed Rachel’s hand.

      “Komm, schnell, Rachel. Aunt Sara said she’d get me a treat but I must look at everything before I decide. You can help me.”

      Rachel clung to his hand a moment longer, but at an encouraging nod from her teacher, she let go. The two girls started off together.

      “Don’t get too far away from us, ya?” Sara cautioned.

      Becky nodded, already chattering away to Rachel about the relative merits of a funnel cake or an ice-cream cone.

      “Danki,” he said softly. “It’s kind of you to think of helping Rachel get to know your niece.”

      “I thought Rachel might feel more at home with a friend,” Sara said. “She already knows Becky a little from school. And our Becky is such a chatterbox. She talks enough to charm a turtle out of its shell.”

      “Rachel isn’t a turtle, but she does have a shell,” he admitted, impelled by a need to explain something he didn’t quite understand himself. “Her mother was sick so long—” His voice seemed to stick there. “She passed not quite a year ago. Rachel hasn’t had much of a childhood.”

      “That must have been so hard on both of you.” Sara’s eyes were warm with sympathy.

      “Ya.” He struggled to find words. “I hoped a fresh start, away from all the reminders of her mamm, would help her forget about the past.”

      “But she can’t—” Sara began. Then she paused, seeming to censor what she was about to say. “I’m sorry it’s been a difficult beginning for her here.”

      A burst of laughter came from the auction tent. Sara glanced in that direction, smiling at the sound. “Josh Davis is a fine auctioneer. He always gets the crowd into a buying mood.” She turned back to him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

      “Ya?” They were as isolated in the noisy crowd as anywhere, he supposed. “Has something happened?”

      “The chief came to our house last night. They know the man’s name now.” She shot a look at the girls and lowered her voice. “Jase Kovatch. The chief said he’d been in trouble with the police before.”

      Caleb nodded, frowning. The death of an unknown Englischer was sad, but nothing to do with them, surely.

      “The worrisome thing is that the police could find no reason for him to be up there on the cliff.” She took a breath, as if she didn’t want to say more. “The chief says there’s nothing much up there. Nothing but a good view of the school.”

      She didn’t say any more. She didn’t need to. There wasn’t an Amish person alive who didn’t know about the Amish schoolchildren who’d died at the hands of an Englischer.

      “That’s bad, that is.” He fought to speak through the tightness in his throat. “But since the man is dead, there’s no call to worry, ya?”

      Sara’s expression said she wasn’t convinced of that. “Maybe. But we don’t know for sure. If there’s any danger to the kinner— Caleb, don’t you see you must speak to the police about Rachel’s fears?”

      “No.” His response was instantaneous. “I won’t have my child involved in this.”

      “But—”

      He cut off her protest by grabbing her wrist. He felt her pulse thunder against his palm and released her just as quickly.

      “She is my child. It is for me to say. And I say no.”

      They stood so for a moment, their eyes challenging each other, and the noise surrounding them seemed to fade away. He felt... He wasn’t sure what he felt.

      Before he could decide, a voice called Sara’s name. They turned away from each other, and he wondered if Sara was as relieved as he was.

      “Teacher Sara.” The speaker was Silas Weaver, leader of the school board. Behind him stood another man, an older Englischer who seemed vaguely familiar.

      Silas nodded to Caleb in greeting before turning to Sara. “I need a word.” He made it sound like an order.

      “I will keep an eye on Becky,” Caleb said. “Take your time.”

      He moved off after the girls, just as glad to have this uncomfortable conversation interrupted. Teacher Sara seemed to have a knack for eliciting all sorts of feelings in him, and he didn’t have room in his life for that.

      * * *

      Sara had to push down her instinctive reluctance to talk to Silas Weaver. She didn’t have a choice. He was president of her school board. Unfortunately, he also possessed a stern, disapproving temperament that didn’t make him easy to deal with.

      She tried to manage a smile as she joined the man. “The auction is going well, ain’t so?”

      He grunted, casting a disapproving gaze at the tent. “We’ll be lucky to end up with enough to cover our costs for a few more months. Folks don’t realize how expensive it is