fingers though his hair. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
It was no use. Jonathan didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain my real fear—that maybe the tall shadow out there was Lissa’s father. With a quick wave good-bye, Jon opened the back door and left.
Alone again, I groped my way through the dark hallway to the front door, shivering with fright. I didn’t dare turn on the lights.
I remembered what Rachel said about the Amish always keeping their doors open as I gripped the lock, double checking it. Satisfied it was secure, I peeked out once again. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe the moon had played a trick on me.
Feeling better, I headed upstairs, pulling Rachel’s Amish clothes out of my jacket. I found Lissa staring at one of the pictures on my wall gallery. When I came in the room, she turned away, reacting as though she’d been caught. “I…uh, didn’t mean to—”
“Go ahead, it’s okay,” I said.
She moved back to look at the photo of the flower-strewn gravestone. Leaning closer, she read the words, “ ‘Faith Hanson, precious daughter and dear sister, in heaven with our Lord.’ ” Lissa stood silent for a moment. “Was your sister sick long?”
“Not long.” I kept the Amish clothes hidden behind my back.
She turned away from the wall to look at me. “How’d you handle it when you knew your twin was dying?”
A lump grew in my throat, but I forced it down. “It was hard for all of us. Really hard.”
“Did you cry a lot?” Her gaze penetrated me.
Uncomfortable, I looked away. “Mother cried enough for all of us,” I said, avoiding the question. The truth was I’d never let myself cry about Faithie.
Lissa limped past the picture of the gravestone to more of my photography—Amish windmills, water pumps, and landscapes. There was even a picture of the playground at the Amish school, without the children. I’d always respected their wishes by not photographing the Amish, unlike some tourists who had been known to stalk young Plain children, bribing them for a snapshot.
I was relieved that Lissa didn’t say anything more about crying for Faithie. Glancing out my window, I peeked through the side of the curtain. Slowly, I surveyed the area below. That’s when I saw the tall gray shadow emerge from the bushes. It was a policeman, and he was motioning to someone.
Quickly, another policeman appeared, coming around the corner and across Strawberry Lane toward the house.
“Lissa!” I called.
Startled, she jerked her head. “What?”
“Quick! Kill the lights.” I waved her to the window. “Two policemen!”
Terror filled her eyes as she scrambled to the lamp beside my bed. In the darkened room, we stared through the curtains, scarcely breathing.
Lissa gasped. “That’s my dad! I know it is…and his partner, Officer Rhodes, he’s the other one…the big guy.”
I could hardly breathe, let alone think. “That’s the cop who questioned me this afternoon,” I muttered. “Why’s he back?”
Then I remembered the strange way he’d looked at Lissa’s yellow ribbon on Abednego’s neck. What if Mr. Vyner had described what he’d last seen his daughter wearing?
Lissa grabbed my arm. “What’ll we do? They’re going to take me back home!”
I pulled her into the closet, the Amish clothes still draped over my arm. “I’m going to help you escape.” I flicked on the light. “See this?” I held up the green dress and long black apron. “It’s your way out of here.”
She reached to touch the dress, then her hand sprang back. “Ee-ew! It’s disgusting.”
I began to unfasten the Velcro on the front. “You’ll get used to it.”
She shot a weak smile through her tears. Then the doorbell rang. Lissa grabbed the dress. “I’ll wear it, disgusting or not.” And she began to undress.
Br-ring!
I opened the closet door to answer the phone, but Lissa pulled me back. “You can’t!”
“It could be my parents,” I said. “They’ll worry if no one
It was no use. Jonathan didn’t understand. And I couldn’t explain my real fear—that maybe the tall shadow out there was Lissa’s father. With a quick wave good-bye, Jon opened the back door and left.
Alone again, I groped my way through the dark hallway to the front door, shivering with fright. I didn’t dare turn on the lights.
I remembered what Rachel said about the Amish always keeping their doors open as I gripped the lock, double checking it. Satisfied it was secure, I peeked out once again. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe the moon had played a trick on me.
Feeling better, I headed upstairs, pulling Rachel’s Amish clothes out of my jacket. I found Lissa staring at one of the pictures on my wall gallery. When I came in the room, she turned away, reacting as though she’d been caught. “I…uh, didn’t mean to—”
“Go ahead, it’s okay,” I said.
She moved back to look at the photo of the flower-strewn gravestone. Leaning closer, she read the words, “ ‘Faith Hanson, precious daughter and dear sister, in heaven with our Lord.’ ” Lissa stood silent for a moment. “Was your sister sick long?”
“Not long.” I kept the Amish clothes hidden behind my back.
She turned away from the wall to look at me. “How’d you handle it when you knew your twin was dying?”
A lump grew in my throat, but I forced it down. “It was hard for all of us. Really hard.”
“Did you cry a lot?” Her gaze penetrated me.
Uncomfortable, I looked away. “Mother cried enough for all of us,” I said, avoiding the question. The truth was I’d never let myself cry about Faithie.
Lissa limped past the picture of the gravestone to more of my photography—Amish windmills, water pumps, and landscapes. There was even a picture of the playground at the Amish school, without the children. I’d always respected their wishes by not photographing the Amish, unlike some tourists who had been known to stalk young Plain children, bribing them for a snapshot.
I was relieved that Lissa didn’t say anything more about crying for Faithie. Glancing out my window, I peeked through the side of the curtain. Slowly, I surveyed the area below. That’s when I saw the tall gray shadow emerge from the bushes. It was a policeman, and he was motioning to someone.
Quickly, another policeman appeared, coming around the corner and across Strawberry Lane toward the house.
“Lissa!” I called.
Startled, she jerked her head. “What?”
“Quick! Kill the lights.” I waved her to the window. “Two policemen!”
Terror filled her eyes as she scrambled to the lamp beside my bed. In the darkened room, we stared through the curtains, scarcely breathing.
Lissa gasped. “That’s my dad! I know it is…and his partner, Officer Rhodes, he’s the other one…the big guy.”
I could hardly breathe, let alone think. “That’s the cop who questioned me this afternoon,” I muttered. “Why’s he back?”
Then I remembered the strange way he’d looked at Lissa’s yellow ribbon on Abednego’s neck. What if Mr. Vyner had described what he’d last seen his daughter wearing?
Lissa grabbed my arm. “What’ll we do? They’re going to take me back home!”
I pulled her into the closet, the Amish clothes still draped over my arm. “I’m going to help you escape.” I flicked on the light. “See this?” I held up the green dress and long black apron. “It’s your way out of here.”
She reached to touch the dress, then her hand sprang back. “Ee-ew! It’s disgusting.”
I began to unfasten the Velcro on the front. “You’ll get used to it.”
She shot a weak smile through her tears. Then the doorbell rang. Lissa grabbed the dress. “I’ll wear it, disgusting or not.” And she began to undress.
Br-ring!
I opened the closet door to answer the phone, but Lissa pulled me back. “You can’t!”
“It could be my parents,” I said. “They’ll worry if no one
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