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Authors: Nancy Mehl

Tags: #FIC042040, #FIC042060, #FIC053000, #Mennonites—Fiction, #Women journalists—Fiction, #Man-woman relationships—Fiction

Rising Darkness (17 page)

BOOK: Rising Darkness
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Jonathon chuckled. “We will definitely check on you if you don't come upstairs for breakfast. If you turn down breakfast at The Whistle Stop, I'll know you're dead.”

“For sure.” He waved at me. “See you tomorrow, Emily.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Jonathon watched as Nate left the room. When the door closed behind him, he sat down in the chair Nate had just vacated. “I talked to Jacob. He gave me the keys to the church's back door. After I check things here, I'll come and get you. Then we'll head over to the church.”

Every part of my body wanted to tell him I wasn't up for
it, but I knew I had to go. “Okay. But until then I'm just going to sit here and suffer.”

“Would a cup of coffee ease your suffering?”

“Somewhat. But if it were accompanied by a serving of chocolate bread pudding it would go a long way toward my complete recovery.”

He glanced around the empty room. “I'm sorry, Sophie, but all the food is gone. I'm afraid you missed out.”

I grinned at him. “Check the refrigerator. There's a foam box inside with
Leftover grease
written on the top.”

“You hid a piece of bread pudding in the fridge?”

“As you know, I can be very devious.”

“In this case, I'd say you were brilliant.”

I laughed and watched him walk away. This had been a strange night. It was even more important now that I find Terrance Chase and get out of this place. I didn't like having to trust so many people. Esther, Jonathon, and Nate knew the truth now. Well, at least the truth I was willing to give them.

As I waited, I remembered my purse. I called out Jonathon's name, and he poked his head through the door.

“Could you also grab my purse? It's under the counter next to the sink.”

He nodded and disappeared for a few minutes. When he came out, he was carrying the box of bread pudding, a cup of coffee, and my purse. The strap was slung over his shoulder.

“Don't tell anyone you saw me with a purse,” he said when he got to my table. “It will ruin my manly reputation.”

“You have my word. My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.” He handed me the box. Inside were the bread
pudding and a plastic fork. He set the coffee cup in front of me and put my purse on the table.

“I'd offer you some, but . . . I'm not going to.” I smirked at him.

“Gee, thanks.” He patted his stomach. “I guess the two helpings I had earlier will have to suffice.”

“No wonder it went so fast.” I took a bite, and just as Rosey had said, it was incredible. I closed my eyes and chewed slowly, savoring the taste. “I think I could live on this.”

“So did you learn anything new tonight?” Jonathon asked.

“Not much, unfortunately. I saw Ben Johnson. He's bald and has a beard. Might be a good disguise. Didn't get close enough to see his eyes.”

“Martin Hatcher wasn't here, was he?”

I shook my head. “I hear he eats at The Whistle Stop a lot, though. All in all, tonight was a major disappointment. I'm realizing more and more how clueless I've been. Just coming here and hoping to run into Terrance Chase was . . . dumb.”

“I'm not sure what else you could have done,” Jonathon replied. “If you thought he was here, it was worth checking out. You just have to go with what you've got.”

“But I need something solid,” I shot back. “I can't throw away my career on a
maybe
.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

“First of all, I need a close look at both of these men. Chase can change some things, but he can't change everything. Eye color, the shape of his face, his hairline. If only I could see his upper arm. There should be a scar. Chase got a bullet in the arm during the robbery.”

“He could be wearing contacts.”

“After all these years? I doubt it.”

“Okay, if one of them looks like Chase to you, will that really be enough?” Jonathon asked.

“Not really,” I admitted. “I need DNA. Fingerprints. Some kind of forensic evidence.”

Jonathon sat down in a chair next to me. “Listen, Sophie. You may not be able to gather that kind of evidence yourself. You told me if you narrowed it down to a strong possibility, you'd be willing to talk to Paul. He could provide the final proof you need. It might be the only way to catch Chase and write your story.”

I couldn't argue with him. For the first time, I started to see the wisdom in bringing Paul in on my quest. As long as he promised to let me break the story. And I might have a decent chance of getting his agreement because of his relationship with Jonathon.

“You may be right, but I can get fingerprints without Paul's help. I've been thinking about it, and I believe I've got it figured out.”

“And how are you going to do that? Just walk up to him and say, ‘Excuse me, but I think you're wanted for murder, and I'd like to have your fingerprints so I can prove it?'”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. I'll get his fingerprints and send them to a guy I know at the paper. He works with the police and FBI. He can have them checked. You have my word. If Chase is here, I'll figure out how to catch him.”

Jonathon was silent for a moment. “Finish that. I'm tired. If we're going to the church, we need to hurry up.”

I wolfed down the rest of the bread pudding and chased it with coffee. After cleaning up my mess, Jonathon turned off
the lights, and we left the community room. While he checked all the doors, I stared once again at the painting in the lobby. Something about it made me hurt inside. Why wasn't Jesus there for me when I was a child? For a few short moments, that question was more important than anything else. Even finding Terrance Chase.

Chapter
Eighteen

I retrieved my car from The Oil Lamp and followed Jonathon to the Mennonite church. The night had turned bitterly cold. Thankfully, I'd tossed my coat in the back seat, so I was as warm as I could be in the frigid night air. The drive to the church was so short there wasn't time for my car heater to warm up.

As we approached the building, I noticed a glow on one side of the building. Pastor Troyer must have left the lights on. Strange, since Jonathon had only asked him tonight if we could get in. The closer we got, the more my heart began to race. The light was flickering and moving. This illumination wasn't from lights. The church was on fire!

I pulled up behind Jonathon, who jumped out of his truck and raced toward the back of the building. I opened my door and willed my legs to move, but I felt paralyzed. Flashbacks of the fire at the church in Kingdom overwhelmed me. People screaming, running, Jonathon rushing into the
building, trying to save the pastor. I held onto the car door, unable to believe what I was seeing.

Jonathon came running around the side of the building. “Sophie! Help me!”

It took every ounce of strength I could muster to finally move my legs and start to run toward him. When I reached him, he grabbed me by the shoulders. He had a water hose draped over his arm.

“Help me get this hose untangled!”

I grabbed it and began to unravel the rolled-up hose while Jonathon pulled on it until it reached a water spigot on the side of the church. Once he hooked up one end of the hose, he helped me finish untangling the rest of it.

“When I yell, turn on the water,” he said. Then he took off for the back of the church. A few seconds later, I heard him call my name, and I attempted to turn the handle. I strained, trying to get it to move. It seemed to be frozen. I gave it everything I had, but it wouldn't budge. I could hear Jonathon still shouting in the distance, but I couldn't respond. All of my strength and attention was concentrated on that stubborn faucet. The fire in Kingdom raged in my head. It was as if I could make the destruction I caused go away if I could save this church. Finally, I felt some movement. I got on the other side of the faucet and pulled with every ounce of energy I could muster. The knob kept turning. When it was open all the way, I collapsed on the cold ground, crying. I felt completely drained. Eventually, I forced myself up and hurried to the back of the building. The back door was open, so I followed the hose down the stairs to the basement. I found Jonathon spraying water on smoldering embers. I ran over
and switched on the light that sat on the desk. Then I jogged over to the other door and flipped on the light switch. By the time I got back to where Jonathon stood with the hose in his hands, the fire was almost completely out.

“I don't understand,” I said. “How could we see the fire from outside? The windows are painted over.”

Jonathon crooked his head toward the side of the room. “That glass was broken out.”

I went over to the area Jonathon had indicated. Sure enough, there was glass on the floor and an opening near the top of the basement wall. Apparently someone had broken the window, dropped down onto an old church pew directly underneath, and started the fire. I went back to Jonathon, who was making sure the flames were out.

“Those are the records I've been working with,” I told him. “Someone took them out of the cabinets, threw them on the floor, and set them on fire.”

“I think that's obvious, don't you, Sophie?”

Although I could barely see him in the dim light, he looked angry. “I—I didn't do this, Jonathon.” My voice trembled, and my knees felt weak. “I really didn't do this. I—I wouldn't set this church on fire. You've got to believe me.” I could feel tears running down my cheeks. Memories of Kingdom and that terrible night were flashing through me as if I had been transported back to that moment in time. The worst moment of my life. I reached out and grabbed his arm. “You've got to believe me. This wasn't me.” The last words came out in a raspy whisper.

Jonathon dropped the hose and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh, Sophie. I didn't mean . . . I wasn't saying you set this
fire. I know you didn't. That wasn't what I meant . . .” He looked down at my hands. “What have you done? Your hands are bleeding.”

Before I knew what was happening, Jonathon pulled me close to him and kissed me with a passion I'd never experienced before. Desire for him exploded inside me, igniting the love I'd carried for so many years. But suddenly, fear overpowered everything else. Fear of losing him. Of being hurt again. Of not being good enough. The barrier of protection I'd built for myself closed around me like a prison door. I pushed him away, tears running down my face. Although I wanted nothing more than to return his kiss, I couldn't.

Not knowing what else to do, I turned and ran for the basement door. I flung it open and hurried up the stairs. At the top, I ran right into Jacob Troyer.

“Emily? Is that you? Are you all right?”

I nodded, but I couldn't stop sobbing. I pushed past him and ran out the front door and got in my car. I fumbled around in my purse and found my keys. The cuts on my hands were getting blood on everything I touched, but I didn't care. Before I could put the key in the ignition, Jonathon came running out of the church. He sprinted to my car and opened my door.

“Sophie, wait. Please don't go. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please, please forgive me.”

The interior light in my car highlighted the distress on his face. Instead of making me feel better, it hurt to see him like that. I wanted to be in his arms, and I wanted him to kiss me. But I knew it was wrong. Jonathon was a man of God, and I wasn't good enough for him. Never would be. My love for him was so strong I couldn't allow him to throw his life away
with someone like me. He needed a woman who could live up to his standards. Someone he could be proud of. I wasn't that woman. “It's not your fault,” I said between sobs. “I just can't. . . . I can't . . .”

Jonathon gently pulled me from the car and helped me to my feet. Then he wrapped his arms around me. “I understand, Sophie. I really do. I'm here for you. No matter what.” He let me go and held my face in his hands. “You have my word that I will never kiss you again—unless you ask me to. I promise. You have nothing to fear from me.” He took one hand off the side of my face and wiped my cheeks with his fingers. “I don't believe you started that fire, and nothing could convince me otherwise.” He put his hand back on my cheek. “I want to be your friend . . . if you'll let me. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm falling in love with you, Sophie. But I know you've got to heal from all the damage your father caused. I shouldn't have pushed you before you were ready. It won't happen again.”

Jonathon thought my reaction was caused by my father's abuse. I decided it was better to let him believe that. If I told him the truth, I was afraid he'd argue with me. Try to tell me I could be the kind of woman he needed. And I just couldn't accept that.

“Tonight when I saw you with Nate, I realized how much you mean to me.” He took a deep breath. “I know God has to be the center of any relationship I have. And it should be the same for you. So until that happens, just let me be a part of your life. A friend you can always count on. Someone who will be there whenever you need them, okay?”

As I nodded slowly, the painting at the church popped into
my mind. Jesus holding the little girl's face as if He wanted her to know how much He loved her. I realized that Jonathon was holding me the same way. My tears began again, but this time it was for a completely different reason. Suddenly, I could feel God's presence, wrapping me in love and telling me that He'd never left me. That He'd always loved me. I pulled Jonathon's hands down and wrapped my arms around him again. He held me for quite some time. Finally, I pulled back, wiped my face on my coat sleeve, and offered him a shaky smile. “I love you, Jonathon. It feels like I've loved you forever. But I'm realizing there are some dark places inside me that have to heal. And not just from my father.” I lightly touched his face, something I'd wanted to do ever since I'd seen him again. I removed my fingers quickly, not wanting to get blood on his cheek. “God and I have some work to do. Right now, I'm not good for you. Or for anyone. Even myself. I would love your friendship—and your prayers. Maybe someday I can be the kind of woman you deserve. Right now, I'm not even close.”

He started to say something, but I shook my head. “If you really do care for me, please don't argue. If I've ever been sure about anything in my life, I'm sure about this.”

“I wasn't going to argue with you, Sophie. I just wondered why you mentioned God. I thought you didn't believe in Him.”

I sighed into the darkness. “I'd convinced myself I didn't, but it seems He didn't go away just because I turned my back on Him. I still can't explain some of the things I had to endure, but ever since I set foot in Sanctuary, I've seen Him. In this town, in these people. But most of all, I see Him in you.”

A tear snaked down the side of Jonathon's face, and he nodded. “I understand.” He took my hands and stared down at them, highlighted by the light from my car. “You've got to wash your hands and put some disinfectant on them, okay?”

“I will. As soon as I get back to Esther's.”

He hugged me one more time and then helped me back into my car. “Go home and get some sleep. I'm going to help Jacob clean up. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

As he walked away, I wanted to call him back. Tell him the whole truth. About Tom being attacked, the notes, everything. But fear held me captive. “If you want me to tell Jonathon everything, God,” I whispered, “You'll have to give me the strength to do it. I'm just not there yet.”

As I drove to Esther's, two emotions battled for my heart. Love and fear. Each so strong I couldn't control them. I really had no idea which one would win.

BOOK: Rising Darkness
6.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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