3 X 3 E-Book

Patrick E. Craig

• Herausgeber: P&J Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Porch Swing Mysteries
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 275

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Jenny Hershberger has returned to Apple Creek, the small Amish Village in Wayne County, Ohio, where she spent her childhood. She purchased her family home and hopes to find peace there.
But then a horrific new mystery comes her way. Three random killings, all marked by the bloody signature of a ruthless serial killer, electrify the little town of Wooster, Ohio. Elbert Wainwright, Jenny’s counterpart on the Wooster police force, puts his team to work and quickly hunts down the man they think is responsible—a mentally disabled Vietnam War vet. All the evidence points to Steven Lambright.
But when Elbert calls Jenny and her old friend, retired sheriff Bobby Halverson, to help, the case against Lambright starts to go south as Jenny discovers there is much more to the story than meets the eye. One by one, Jenny uncovers secrets hidden for forty years, secrets deeply connected to the Amish community. And as she brings them to light, Jenny finds the past can reveal much about the present—in terrifying ways.

Leseprobe

3 X 3

THE PORCH SWING MYSTERIES

BOOK 3

PATRICK E. CRAIG

COPYRIGHT

Cover by Cora Graphics Simona Cora Salardi

www.coragraphics.it

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

3 X 3

Copyright © 2024 by Patrick E. Craig

Published by P&J Publishing

P.O. Box 73

Huston, Idaho 83630

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-publications Data

Craig, Patrick E., 1947-

3 X 3 / Patrick E. Craig

ISBN 979-8-9871451-6-6 (pbk.)

ISBN 979-8-9871451-5-9 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Praise for The Porch Swing Mysteries

Dedication

Acknowledgement

A Note from Patrick E. Craig

1. Number One

2. Apple Creek Dreams

3. Number Two

4. Home Again

5. Number Three

6. Suspects

7. Letter From The Past

8. Daylight

9. Call for Help

10. Questions

11. New Inquiries

12. Missy

13. Liz

14. What Happened?

15. Old Wounds

16. The Hiding Place

17. Secrets

18. In the Woods

19. The Past Speaks

20. The Truth Will Set You Free

21. Aldon

22. Wrapping the Case

23. The End…

About the Author

More Books by Patrick E.Craig

The Apple Creek Dreams Series

The Paradise Chronicles Series

The Islands Series with Murray Pura

Praise for Patrick E. Craig’s Books

PRAISE FOR THE PORCH SWING MYSTERIES

3 X 3

The title of this book, 3 X 3, intrigued me from the beginning, because I thought it was a mistake. But it is an integral part of the plot, and makes sense as the reader gets further into the book. The twists and turns of discovery kept me turning pages long into the night to find out all the answers. The Amish “Miss Marple”, Jenny Hershberger, does her magic and figures out the mystery of “who dunnit” with straightforward no nonsense thinking. The writing is clear and direct, without a lot of extraneous fluff to make up a word count. I enjoyed this book and look forward to more of Craig’s work.

TENNEY COULON SINGER

Have you ever been on the edge of your seat as you watch a spellbinding movie? Well, the new book by Patrick E. Craig, 3 X 3, gives you that same sense of foreboding. This story is so well crafted you forget you are reading a book. No, you are actually sitting in that movie theater holding your popcorn just waiting for the bucket to fly out of your hand as the screams fill the room.

CHERESE AKHAVEIN

THE BOY IN BLUE DENIM

Craig is able to skillfully combine the twists and turns of an Agatha Christie-Miss Marple murder mystery, and its suspense and edginess, with the rustic beauty of the Amish world and the aura of romance and peace that rests like a summer dew on its farms and homesteads. A page-turner not to be missed by fans of Amish fiction or fans of well-written murder mysteries both. A splendid effort by a seasoned author who excels at every genre he puts his hand to.

MURRAY PURA CIBA, WORD GUILD, SELAH AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR

You could call it Amish fiction on steroids! The Boy in Blue Denim is a page-turner for sure. I have always liked the author’s style and thoroughness of research, but this time he brought it to a new level. His characters are engaging and interesting. Their lives are intertwined in ways you would not expect. I read the book in two sittings because each page demanded I find out more. There are twists and turns you will not be expecting, and I suspect you won’t want to put it down either!  

CONNIE PORTER

THE QUILT THAT KNEW

Patrick E. Craig has once again written a book that will take you deep into the heart of Amish country. The Quilt That Knew is a delightful and intriguing plain and simple mystery.

VANNETTA CHAPMAN, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

The Quilt That Knew is another great book by Patrick E. Craig. Jenny Hershberger and Bobby Halverson from the Apple Creek Dreams series are back, but now they are working on a cold murder case. This book had you sitting on the edge of your seat trying to figure out “who done it.” Once I started reading it I could not put it down until I finished it. There were so many surprises and twists. First the dead girl in the box, then another dead body found in the woods, and finally the drug overdose of a main suspect. And when Jenny and Bobby start looking at these clues, mysterious things start to happen. This is a “must read” for everyone. I loved this book.

KAY LEATHERS WINGO

So, how good is The Quilt That Knew? Well, I read it straight through in a day! And it’s a great start to what will surely be a wonderful mystery series! And my favorite line:

“And I was thinking that the Amish community is not the peachy-keen, perfect world that most people think it is, especially those Englischers who buy those ‘Amish fiction’ books off the shelf at Walmart. Amish fiction, indeed!”

And, perhaps, my friends, that line best encapsulates what Patrick Craig does best—pure and honest portrayals of the Amish as people with real passions and faults, and not the idealistic fantasies of so many others. And that, is refreshing.

SCOTT R. REZER — AUTHOR OF THE BUTCHER’S BRIDE, THE LEPER KING AND LOVE ABIDETH STILL

DEDICATION

Dedicated to my wife, Judy, who once again has labored alongside me to make this book the best it can be.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I would like to take the opportunity here to acknowledge a few of the men and women who have been intrumental in my development as an author.

First, to those who have passed: Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour, Harper Lee, Ken Kesey, Mark Twain, J.R.R. Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Agatha Christie, William Shakespeare.

Then to those present: Murray Pura, Vannetta Chapman, Nick Harrison, James Scott Bell, Tim Riter, Jerry Jenkins.

A NOTE FROM PATRICK E. CRAIG

Over the course of two Porch Swing Mysteries, Jenny Hershberger has established herself as the Amish Miss Marple.

In the first book Jenny solved the mystery of The Quilt That Knew, the case of a missing girl found buried in a box in the woods forty years after her disappearance. Then she solved the perplexing case of a little lost boy who was murdered in book two, The Boy In Blue Denim.

Now she is back in book three, 3 X 3, and is facing the most dangerous killer she has so far encountered.

Jenny Hershberger has moved to Apple Creek, the small Amish Village in Wayne County, Ohio, where she spent her childhood, She has purchased her family home and hopes to find peace there.

But then a horrific new mystery comes her way. Three random killings, all marked by the bloody signature of a ruthless serial killer, electrify the little town of Wooster, Ohio. Elbert Wainwright, Jenny’s counterpart on the Wooster police force, puts his team to work and quickly hunts down the man they think is responsible—a mentally disabled Vietnam War vet. All the evidence points to Steven Lambright.

But when Elbert calls Jenny and her old friend, retired sheriff Bobby Halverson, to help, the case against Lambright starts to go south as Jenny discovers there is much more to the story than meets the eye. One by one, Jenny uncovers secrets hidden for forty years, secrets deeply connected to the Amish community. And as she brings them to light, Jenny finds the past can reveal much about the present—in terrifying ways.

Patrick E. Craig

1

NUMBER ONE

An exceedingly dull day. Way too hot.

Detective Gary Linden sat in his office at the Wooster police station. Outside through the half-open Venetian blinds, a glaring sun shone feebly through the dusty mid-Ohio harvest haze. The 92 degree temperature paralyzing Wooster was wholly out of character for a late August day and Gary could hear the ancient AC in the attic above laboring to keep up. The occasional sweat drop running down into his once-pressed collar let him know the machine was not doing its job. The phone rang.

“Detective Linden.”

“Hey, Gary, John Ashe.”

“John! What’s up?”

“It’s 4:52 p.m. on an unusually hot Thursday in Wooster and I thought you might be up for a couple of cold brewskis down at Muddy’s when you close up over there.”

Gary nodded his head. “That sounds like a glorious end to a very dull day. Let’s meet around…”

The door cracked open and the office girl’s head poked through… then her hand—from which protruded several pieces of mail. “Elbert sent these over for you to look through, Detective… if you have time, of course.”

“Sure. I always have time for Lieutenant Wainwright.”

Gary counted the envelopes.

Five. One minute per envelope, add ten minutes in case paperwork is involved… ten minutes to get out of here, ten minutes to Muddy’s…

“John?”

“Yeah, bro.”

“How does 5:45 sound? Some last minutes just walked through the door.”

“Okay, see you there. I’ll start without you.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Charlene gave him her trademark smirk as she handed him the stack. “You might be a little late, Detective.”

“Uh, how long have you had these on your desk, Charlene?”

Charlene smiled demurely. “Why, since the mail came this morning.”

“And you didn’t bring them right up because…?”

A shrug, the pouty look. “Well, you know how Lieutenant Wainwright keeps me busy…”

Gary shook his head. He gives you longer coffee breaks if you torment me…

He began sorting through the stack, checking the return addresses.

The Mahoning Valley Scrappers—probably looking for some off-duty cops to do security.

He zipped it open with his letter opener and scanned it.

Yep. I’ll put this one up on the bulletin board.

The second letter was junk mail.

The third letter, addressed in all capital, hand-printed letters, read, “TO THE SMARTEST COP IN WOOSTER—IF THERE IS ONE!”

He set it aside and looked at the other two pieces. Another mailer, this one from a window coverings company, and an invitation to test some new hearing aids for a free dinner. Trash can. Then Gary picked up the hand-addressed envelope and opened it. Inside was a single eight-and-a-half inch by eleven-inch sheet, folded three times. Gary unfolded it. There was a brief laser-printed note.

I am going to kill three women. The first will be soon. Springs is here. 3 X 3

Gary read it again.

Who would send us this stuff? And he misspelled Spring.

Gary read the letter one more time, re-folded it, and put it back in the envelope.

Boy, some people need to get out more often.

He took out the request for off-duty cops at the baseball stadium, gathered up the remaining mail, leaned over the corner of his desk and dropped them all in the trash. Then he got up, walked out into the hall to the bulletin board, pinned up the note from the Scrappers, and went back into his office. He put his things away, put his department-issued Glock in the drawer, and went to the door. His hand went to the light switch, but he paused. Something…

Gary went back to the trash can and fished out the murder threat envelope, looked at the scrawled address one more time and then put it in the bottom side drawer of his desk.

I better hang on to it in case Elbert asks me about it.

Then he left.

* * *

Gary’s buddy, John, was two beers down the road when Gary got to Muddy’s. They moved from the bar to a booth. The waitress ambled over and took his order.

“Corona Extra with a lime slice and could you put it in the freezer for five minutes before you bring it?”

John grinned. “When you want an ice cold beer, you mean it.”

In five minutes, the beer came. It was cold enough that the beer half-froze around the lime slice.

A cold one!

Gary sat, enjoying it.

John pulled out a pack of Camels and offered one to Gary, who declined. “So, what’s new at Wooster Central, Gary, ol’ pal?”

“Not much. Lieutenant Wainwright has something against me, I think. Anyway, he keeps sending the office tart into my space with all kinds of ‘extra’ stuff to do, at the last minute, of course. Answer mail, call the help center to see how they are doing, review the work tapes of the 911 operators—real high-end stuff. And every bit has zero meaning attached.”

“But, nothing skanky or weird?”

“Well… I got a strange letter today. They addressed it to the smartest cop in Wooster.”

John laughed. “Well, at least they gave it to you. What was in it?”

“Typical off-the-wall letter stuff. ‘I’m going to murder three women, and the first one will be soon.’ The odd thing was it also said ‘Springs is here.’”

John shook his head. “Just some nut-ball. Can’t even get the seasons straight.”

* * *

The white van pulled into a parking space on the road to the park. The driver turned off the motor and waited.

The young woman parked her bike at the entrance to Grosjean Park. She carefully put the steel cable bike lock through one of the bicycle stands provided for hikers and then through the front wheel of her bike. She took the small backpack from the back of the bike and slipped her bare arms through the loops. White shorts, a blue short-sleeved button-up blouse and hiking boots. She wore a blue baseball cap with her ponytail pulled through between the cap and the size-adjusting strap. Pretty, athletic looking, she checked the bike lock one more time and then headed up the trail for Johnson Springs.

The driver of the van waited for a few minutes and then got out. Tall, dressed for summer, with a broad-brimmed safari hat pulled low over his eyes and hiding his face, he walked up the same path the girl had taken and disappeared into the woods.

The girl walked about fifteen minutes until she came to the sign pointing to Johnson Springs. It was an enchanted spot where two or three year-round springs bubbled up through the limestone formations so prevalent in the park. Clear and pure, they ran together and then dropped over a short limestone ledge into a deep pool before twisting their way down the hill and emptying into Apple Creek. This was her special place, and she came here often. She took off her pack and her shoes and then sat at the edge of the pool with her feet in the water. It was delicious. Cold.

She didn’t hear the footsteps until the person was right behind her. She turned, looking straight into the afternoon sun. She could barely see the face because of the afternoon light behind it, but she recognized it. A little tinge of fear, but she spoke.

“Hello. Nice day, isn’t it? I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Down in the parking lot…”

There was the sound of feet rustling the fallen leaves, then a gasp and feet splashing in the water… kicking, a muffled shriek…

Then silence.

* * *

Saturday morning in Wooster, still hot. Detective Linden did not like the fact that his phone was ringing at 7:30 in the morning of his day off. He let it go to the answering machine.

“Linden! This is Lieutenant Wainwright. I need you down at Grosvenor Park. We have a murder on our hands. At Johnson Springs.”

Detective Gary Linden sat bolt upright in his bed and grabbed the phone before the Lieutenant could hang up.

“This is Linden, Lieutenant Wainwright. Sorry, I was occupied.”

“Did you hear my message?”

“Yes, a murder? At Johnson springs?”

“That’s right. I’m heading over now. Meet you there.”

“I have to stop by the office. There’s something I have to show you.”

“Okay, but make it quick.”

* * *

Gary found two police cars with lights flashing, an ambulance, and Lieutenant Wainwright’s Suburban parked in the lot at the trailhead. A uniformed officer waited at the head of the trail. He pointed.

“The Lieutenant is about a hundred yards up the trail.”

Gary took to the path and walked the short distance to the scene. Crime tape surrounded the clearing that faced the Springs and Lieutenant Wainwright huddled with Dr. Wilkins, the department’s forensic pathologist. They were kneeling by a body. Elbert stood up as Gary approached.

“Detective Linden, nice you could come.”

He has never liked me.

“Sorry it took so long, Lieutenant, but I stopped by the office to get something you need to see.”

Elbert extended his hand. “Well?”

Gary handed over the envelope. Elbert looked at the hand-printed address and then took out the letter and read it. He read it again and then looked up at Gary.

“This didn’t excite your interest when it came?”

“I thought it was a nut-job. I see dozens of letters like this every year.”

“Why didn’t you toss it then?”

Gary hesitated. “I… I don’t know, just a feeling.”

Elbert smiled. “That, my dear detective, is called ‘coply’ instinct. Glad to see it’s functioning. I assume you thought he misspelled Spring?”

“Well, yes. How would I know he really meant Johnson Springs?”

“You are assuming it’s a he?”

Gary looked down at the body. The girl’s shorts were still in place, but her blouse was partly unbuttoned. Her hands were bound behind her with gray duct tape and her ankles tied together with what looked like orange and black polyester rope. A piece of the same tape was over her mouth. The rope looped tightly around her neck and drew her ankles up almost to her waist behind her. There were bloodstains on the blouse. No bra underneath.

“Hog-tied, helpless. She looks athletic, in-shape. It would take somebody big, strong to overpower her. A man.”

Elbert nodded. “Interesting.”

“Has she been… you know… molested?”

Elbert shook his head. “The doc says no. She died of strangulation. And the mud at the bottom of the pond by the bank was all stirred up. She must have been sitting with her feet in the water when the killer came up from behind. She struggled, but the killer got the rope over her neck and she was unconscious in just a few seconds.”

“Why all the extra tape and rope, if he killed her right off?”

Elbert shook his head. “Got me.”

“Got a name?”

Elbert pulled out a small notebook. “Anna Myerson. Age twenty, lives in Wooster, attends Wooster College. I need you to do a complete canvas. Family, friends, classmates. We need to find out if someone wanted to kill her or if this is just random.”

Gary shook his head. “I don’t think it’s random because he mentioned the springs in his note. I’ll find out if she’s come here before. If she has, the killer may have been tracking her.”

Elbert looked down at the dead girl. “Okay, good.” He looked at the note again. “The killer says he’s going to kill three women. And we know this is from the killer.”

Gary was puzzled. “How do we know?”

Elbert pointed to the signature. Then he spoke to the doctor. “Show him, Doc.”

“I’ve got all the pictures I need, Lieutenant. Can I untie her?”

Elbert nodded. Dr. Wilkins undid the rope around her neck and released her bent legs. Then he unwrapped the tape from her wrists and put it into an evidence bag. Finally, he straightened the girl out and gently rolled her onto her back. The bloodstains on her blouse were more evident. Dr. Wilkins pulled her blouse back. On her chest above her left breast, it looked like she was badly scratched, but blood obscured the scratches. Dr. Wilkins carefully wiped it away until Gary could see what the marks were. The killer had marked something onto the girl’s skin with the point of something very sharp, just below her collarbone.

3 X 3.

2

APPLE CREEK DREAMS

Jenny Hershberger sighed, spread the letter out on the table, and read it again. It was from her cousin Jared in Apple Creek, Ohio. She stared at it for a long time. The letter was brief and to the point, as were all of Jared’s communications. But it was also lovely and kind.

Dear Jenny,

Evangeline and I have been talking about the old house, your folks’ place. My Uncle Levi bought the place from you when you moved to Pennsylvania. He hoped to keep the whole Hershberger farm as one property. When we were first married, Evangeline and I lived in the small house Uncle Reuben built and we loved being there. Then, when Uncle Levi died, he left the property to us. We moved up to the big house and left your old place empty. We have tried to keep it as your mama Jerusha did, but now, with all our children and the increased responsibilities of the farm, the upkeep has become hard for us. So, we have separated it from the entire piece of land and will soon put it on the market as a separate property. We don’t want to sell it, but circumstances dictate we do. So, that said, we are offering it to you first and we will sell it to you at appraised, not market value. We would love for you to have it.

Jared.

It was simple. Jared was offering her the old Springer home in Apple Creek, the house and property where she grew up. And the price was very generous. Jenny’s heart beat fast.

My old house… in Apple Creek. Oh, my.

She stared at the letter for a long time, her heart beating rapidly and her emotions swirling.

So many memories in that house. Her papa had built it with his own hands. Every board and every nail was dedicated to Reuben’s love for her mama, Jerusha. And then when the Springers adopted her, it became the center of her life. She loved the farm in Paradise that her grandfather Borntraeger had left for her and Jonathan. But her heart was truly in Apple Creek.

There was a knock on the door that brought Jenny back from her reverie. Jenny sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood for company, but she went to the door and opened it. Standing on the porch was her daughter, Rachel. She was carrying a pan covered with a towel.

“Rachel?”

“Hi, Mama. I hope I’m not intruding… I was in the area with Levon and I felt like I should come see you. So, I had him drop me off.”

Jenny opened the screen and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Oh, Rachel! You don’t know how much I needed to see you today.” She pulled Rachel through the door, almost dragging her surprised daughter into the house.

“Kumme, I need to show you something.”

She pushed her daughter into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. Then she placed Jared’s letter in front of her.

“Tell me what you think.”

Rachel scanned the letter and then looked up at Jenny, her mouth open. “Mama! They want to sell you your old house!”

Jenny nodded. “I was just reading it and to tell you the truth, es hat mich völlig durcheinander gebracht.”

Rachel nodded her head up and down. “It would fluster me too, Mama. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Rachel. I’m torn, so torn.”

“I can see why, Mama.”

Jenny looked at her lovely daughter. Rachel was in her mid-forties now, but still as youthful as a child. The years had been kind, even with three children.

“I lived there too, and I also love that house…” Rachel paused. “But Mama, if you buy it, you will move to Ohio? What about Bobby? And us?”

“I know, Rachel, I know. So many things to consider. I love this place too. Your papa and I shared all our life together here. And here in Paradise are my daughter, my Daniel, my grandchildren, and Uncle Bobby.” Jenny smiled. “Maybe a cup of kaffee would calm me down. And whatever you have in that pan that smells so good…”

Rachel pulled the towel back. “Kaffee kuchen. I made it this morning.”

“Did I hear someone say coffee cake?”

The two women turned. Bobby Halverson was standing in the kitchen doorway. At eighty-three, Bobby still had a military bearing and a commanding presence. Her father’s best friend since their days in the Marine Corps, and almost a father to her, Bobby had lived in the cottage on Jenny’s farm since her husband Jonathan had died, fifteen years before.

Jenny got up. “This must be an important decision. Everybody that is concerned is being drawn here by it.”

Bobby looked puzzled. “What decision? I was just walking by and smelled the cake.”

Jenny pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Uncle Bobby, and read this while I get us some kaffee. Rachel, you better cut us some of that cake. You know where the plates are.”

Jenny pushed the letter in front of Bobby and then went to the cupboard for mugs. Bobby skimmed the letter and then re-read it. He looked up. “The old house, eh? Well, this is an interesting offer. What are you going to do?”

“I told Rachel that I’m going in a lot of different directions. I love the Paradise farm, I have many memories with Jonathan and my daughter and grandchildren here. I’ve made a life for myself and I’ve been content. But two things are tearing at me.”

Bobby took the cup Jenny offered and then smiled. “Numero uno, Jared has to sell the house, and that means it will be gone forever unless you buy it.”

Jenny shook her head. “Uncle Bobby, how do you know me so well?”

“I was the third one in Apple Creek you met when you were only four years old. I’ve watched you become a brilliant researcher and writer. I’ve rescued you from gangsters. I helped you find your birth mother, and I was there when you found Jonathan, missing for eight years. I guess that nothing in your life has ever escaped me. I know how you think.”

“Oh yes? Well, what’s the second thing?”

“Jonathan’s buried here, but your folks are buried there.”

Rachel laughed. “Uncle Bobby is like your conscience. If you move, you better take him with you.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t get the second thing right.”

“Oh, really?” said Bobby.

“No, you didn’t. What you said is the third thing. My second thing is, what will I do if you don’t come with me?”

“Me?”

“Uncle Bobby, if I move back to Apple Creek, you have to come with me. There’s a house out back we can fix up for you and the elders of Apple Creek will be a lot more understanding of an Englischer sharing my property than they are here. Oh, yes, they put up with you, but only because you live way up the hill. But I’ve seen them looking at you when you aren’t looking.”

Bobby smiled. “Well, I’ve felt them looking at me when I wasn’t looking.”

They all laughed.

“If I buy the place, I will only buy it if you come with me, so please say you will if I do.”

“Okay, I’ll consider it.” He looked at Rachel, who was nodding her head vigorously up and down. “I guess Rachel wants me to go.”

“Mama needs you, Uncle Bobby. And I wouldn’t worry about her being alone if she had you.”

Jenny sat at the table. “Okay, all the cards are on the table. Now I need to broach the subject with du leiber Gott and see what He tells me.”

“I think he already knows,” said Bobby, “and I think you do too.”

* * *

That night in bed, Jenny could not sleep. She was thinking of Apple Creek. She remembered that all her childhood was imbued with a sense of being settled and permanent, that somehow that permanence escaped her in Paradise.

All the bright days of her youth sat in the mystery of God’s eternal circle of life and death, winter and spring, summer and fall. She remembered the cycles of the seasons and how they dictated the deepest feelings in her heart, with her days marked not by events, but by smells and colors and sounds and all the other sensory signals.

The temperature of a morning’s rising told her everything about the day ahead, be it the coolness of a daybreak in spring; the heat of the long, languid days of summer; the crisp bite of a fall day; or the chill of winter that pushed her with icy fingers back under the welcoming warmth of her lovely down quilt—a quilt made by the loving hands of her mother, Jerusha.

She remembered propping herself on the window sill and listening to the lilting chirp of a robin outside her open bedroom window or the haunting call of the Canadian geese heading south, sounds that manifested the procession of days to Jenny more surely than any calendar.

The solemn silence of a winter night, with her shoes softly crunching on the snow as she made her way toward the light in the window ahead, or the grinding of the machinery and the smell of the thick harvest dust, the dust that covered her papa’s face and arms before he washed up after a day in the fields… these things marked the passage of time and bound Jenny surely to the beloved land of Apple Creek and the life so graciously granted by the Master of the vineyard.

She lay awake and thought of the beauty of Apple Creek in the fall. The leaves of the Buckeye trees turning bright red, and the green, spiked pods that hid the green spikey horse chestnuts splitting open and dropping their beautiful seeds on the ground. Being a child again, raking the leaves into forts and piling up the shiny brown nuts to barter with friends from down the street.

Fall mornings always came armed with the warning bite of winter yet to come, the air filled with the promise of families gathered at festive tables and the wonder of frosty nights that delight Jenny’s heart with cathedrals of starry splendor. And end of fall would bring the soft snow to blanket all living things in the quiet death of winter; but for Jenny, fall had been the summation of life in Apple Creek, for fall was harvest time, when the cycle of life was at its peak. Gathering in the harvest, working with her mama to put up corn and meat and fruit for the winter. Laughing with joy and feeling the strength and warmth of her papa’s arms as he embraced his girls after a hard day in the fields.

Jared’s letter had arrived just in time for fall and Jenny knew that soon the fields surrounding Apple Creek would ripen with bounty—the air heavy with the fecundity of the yearly progression coming to its fullness.

Somehow, to Jenny, it was as though her memories of Apple Creek captured the lovely village in a backwater eddy of time and now that village slowly drifted in a lovely continuity of days while the main current of civilization rushed by into an unknown future.

Here papa and mama were part of the land, she was linked to the land, and the land was forever. The fields of Apple Creek stretched to the horizon, and the days were like the fields, reaching back into the permanence of the past and extending forward into a future that she knew held the same tasks, the same demands, the same feasts, and the same succession of birth, life, and death.

A picture came to Jenny: she was sitting with Reuben and Jerusha in the hospital on the day they passed. She remembered this—her parents were not afraid of death, for they had their God and His promises, they had the land and its harvest each year, and they had their daughter, and they were content. And above everything, they had the simplicity of their way. And it was enough.

Jenny sat up in her bed. The sense of Apple Creek pervaded her room, like the smell of lilacs wafting in a window on an April morning.

Home! I need to go home.

3

NUMBER TWO

T