After the Storm Read Free

realize how much they missed her and welcome her back. But she didn’t think so, and that made her cry even harder because deep inside she knew she’d never see them again.
    It took her two hours to walk to the covered bridge. She’d broken a sweat every time a car or buggy passed. She was terrified someone she knew would see her and tell her parents. Of course, it didn’t matter really. They would find out soon enough. Even if they tried to stop her, she wouldn’t change her mind. Nothing could stop her now. Nothing.
    Slipping off her shoes, she strolled over to the place where he’d carved their initials into the wood. It was a silly thing, but the sight of it made her cry again. Finally, after months of sneaking around and fearing exposure, they’d be together, only now as husband and wife. There would be a wedding. A home. Children. Her chest swelled with love, and not for the first time she asked God how something so right and pure and good could be bad.
    Finally, emotionally spent, she went back to her satchel and sat down. He was late, as usual, and she couldn’t wait to see him. She could picture his face. So handsome. Such kind eyes. The secret smile he had only for her. He’d be here any moment in that old car of his, elbow out the window, radio blaring, hair blowing in the wind. All she had to do was sit and wait. She figured she could wait forever if that’s what it took.
    “Hurry, my love,” she whispered. “Hurry.”

 
    CHAPTER 1
    Present day
    I was eight years old when I learned there were consequences for associating with the English. Consequences that were invariably negative and imposed by well-meaning Amish parents bent on upholding the rules set forth by our Anabaptist forefathers nearly three hundred years ago. In my case, this particular life lesson transpired at the horse auction near Millersburg and involved a twelve-year-old English boy and the Appaloosa gelding he was trying to sell. Add me to the mix, and it was a dangerous concoction that ended with me taking a fall and my father’s realization that I saw the concept of rules in a completely different light—and I possessed an inherent inability to follow them.
    I never forgot the lesson I learned that day or how much it hurt my eight-year-old heart, which, even at that tender age, was already raging against the unfairness of the Ordnung and all of those who would judge me for my transgressions. But the lessons of my formative years didn’t keep me from breaking the same rules time and time again, defying even the most fundamental of Amish tenets. By the time I entered my teens, just about everyone had realized I couldn’t conform and, worse, that I didn’t fit in, both of which are required of a member of the Amish community.
    Now, at the age of thirty-three, I can’t quite reconcile myself to the fact that I’m still trying to please those who will never approve and failing as miserably as I did when I was an inept and insecure fifteen-year-old girl.
    “Stop worrying.”
    I’m sitting in the passenger seat of John Tomasetti’s Tahoe, not sure if I’m impressed by his perceptivity or annoyed because my state of mind is so apparent. We’ve been living together at his farm for seven months now, and while we’ve had some tumultuous moments, I have to admit it’s been the happiest and most satisfying time of my life.
    Tomasetti, a former detective with the Cleveland Division of Police, is an agent with the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation. Like me, he has a troubled past and more than his share of secrets, some I suspect I’m not yet privy to. But we have an unspoken agreement that we won’t let our pasts dictate our happiness or how we live our lives. Honestly, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I like to think the sentiment runs both ways.
    “What makes you think I’m worried?” I tell him, putting forth a little attitude.
    “You’re fidgeting.”
    “I’m fidgeting because I’m