Vanish in Plain Sight

“Right now I’m doing illustrations for a children’s book. The story is set in a rural area, as a matter of fact, so these surroundings are perfect.”

The first smile Link had seen from her curved Marisa’s lips and lit her eyes. With the stress momentarily wiped from her face, she seemed to glow with enthusiasm for her work, drawing him closer. Too bad she couldn’t look like that all the time. He hadn’t given much of a thought to women since his injury, but now he felt that flicker of interest that was the first step toward attraction.

“But about this suitcase.” Mom perched on the edge of a chair, clearly not distracted. “Have you any idea how it got there? Did your father ever mention that it was missing?”

“I don’t think so.” Marisa’s lips tightened again. “Not to me, anyway. I was just five when my mother left.” She hesitated. “If she did leave.”

Trey’s hand clenched. He was probably thinking, as Link was, about the implications of Uncle Allen being involved in the woman’s disappearance. Mom had had enough grief in her life with Dad’s death. She shouldn’t have to face any more.

“Surely the fact that the suitcase was packed indicates that she at least planned to leave,” Trey said.

“That’s true, but why—?”

Mom’s question was interrupted by a movement in the archway. Katie Zeller, one of several Amish teens who helped Mom around the house, stood there, probably waiting patiently for a break in the conversation.

Mom turned. “Oh, Katie, I’m sorry. Is everything ready?”

Katie nodded. “Ja. Did you want me to dish up already?”

“Please. I’ll come and help you.” Mom rose, waving toward the dining room. “The rest of you find seats. We’ll get the food on right away. I’m sure Marisa is starved, and here we’ve been keeping her talking instead of feeding her.”

“I’m not…” Marisa began, and let the word trail off when Mom vanished toward the kitchen.

“Pretend you’re hungry,” Trey advised, taking Jessica’s hand as they moved into the dining room. “Our mother is only happy when she’s feeding people.”

“Well, now, I might resent that if it weren’t true.” Mom and her helper carried steaming bowls and platters to the table. “Katie and I made chicken pot pie for supper. I thought Marisa ought to sample some traditional Pennsylvania Dutch food while she’s here.”

Link held Marisa’s chair while she sat down. Manners might be a vanishing art some places, but not in his mother’s house. Marisa, he noticed, was staring at Katie, something almost tragic in her eyes.

Thinking about that Amish apron and kapp in her mother’s suitcase? Both looked identical to the ones Katie wore at the moment. He sat down next to Marisa, turning that over in his mind.

By the time the food platters had circled the table, Marisa had regained her poise, as far as he could tell.

His mother glanced around the table, blue eyes sparkling. “This is nice, having a full table again. And you know, I think I can answer at least one of the questions that’s perplexing Marisa.”

Marisa’s fingers tightened on her fork. “What question is that?”

“How the suitcase came to be in Allen’s house, of course.”

Link exchanged glances with Trey. What was their mother up to now?

“How would you be able to explain that?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“It’s simple, really. I thought of it last night, but then I never had a chance to tell you because you left so early this morning, Link.”

“Tell me what?” Dealing with his mother required more patience than he possessed at the moment, and Marisa’s tension seemed to vibrate through the space between them.

“Why, that Barbara Angelo was your uncle Allen’s housekeeper, of course.”

MARISA FOUND THAT Link’s hand was in her line of vision, lying on the white tablecloth next to hers. Hers was clenched around a fork. His had tightened into so hard a fist that the tendons stood out on the back of it.

Did that mean he was as shocked at Geneva’s revelation as she was? Or did it mean that he hated the fact that it had come out?

“What are you talking about, Mom?” Across the table from her, Trey had found his voice.

Marisa studied him. A year or two older than Link, maybe, but his face, while serious, didn’t carry those lines of tension which marked Link. At the moment Trey was staring at his mother in what seemed honest surprise.

“About Marisa’s mother, Barbara Angelo. She worked for your uncle for a while, taking care of the house for him. Although why he needed a housekeeper, I never understood. There he was all by himself, practically a hermit. You’d think he could easily have done for himself…”

“Give it a rest, Mom.” Trey seemed to relax during his mother’s wanderings. Maybe he was used to the track her thoughts took. “We all know you didn’t like Dad’s brother.”

Geneva straightened, her shoulders back. “Trey, that is absolutely not true. I didn’t dislike your uncle. I just said he didn’t need a housekeeper. He could easily have taken care of things himself. Why, your father—”

“Dad was a paragon,” Trey said, smiling a little. “But you know perfectly well he never washed a dish in his life. You wouldn’t let him.”

“You always thought Uncle Allen was lazy,” Link said. “Typical younger son, taking life easy while his older brother did all the work.”

That sounded like a teasing comment. Certainly the others took it that way, joining in kidding the older woman. But Marisa had heard an undercurrent in Link’s voice that made her wonder. Was that how they’d seen Allen Morgan? Or was Link feeling guilty over something he had or hadn’t done?

She expected Geneva to come back to the subject of her mother working as Allen Morgan’s housekeeper, but that didn’t happen. At first she thought Geneva didn’t care to talk about it, but as Marisa watched them, she realized that Trey and Link were steering the conversation away from that revelation.

They were protective of Geneva. Even Jessica joined in, keeping the talk light as they ate their way through the delectable chicken pot pie and a sweet and nutty squash casserole. At least, Marisa tried to eat. She ought to be hungry, but her stomach seemed tied in a permanent knot since she’d come to this place.

How normal was their protectiveness? She couldn’t really compare them with her family. With Daddy away so much working, family had usually consisted of just her and her grandmother.

Finally everyone was finished, and Geneva suggested a move back into the living room for dessert and coffee. Jessica sat down next to Marisa, while Geneva disappeared into the kitchen and the two men halted in front of the fireplace, heads down in a low-voiced conversation.

“Don’t mind them,” Jessica said, nodding toward the two men. “I try to tell Trey he shouldn’t be so protective of his mother, but everyone does it.” She smiled. “I even find myself doing it sometimes, and the truth is that she’s probably wiser than all of us put together, despite that scatterbrained façade.”

“Is it an act?” She couldn’t help voicing her doubts.

Jessica seemed to consider. “Not entirely. I think she has the sort of mind which jumps ahead of logic, very often arriving at the right answer without apparent effort. Of course, sometimes she’s completely wrong, too.”

“I’m not sure why she thought everything would be cleared up by knowing that my mother worked for Allen Morgan. If anything, it makes the whole thing more…” She hesitated. She’d been going to say suspicious, but that was hardly the thing to say to Trey’s fiancée. “…confusing, I suppose.”

Jessica nodded. “You’ve never heard anything from your mother in all these years?”

“No.” The word had an empty sound.

“I’m sorry.” Jessica touched her hand lightly. “My mother died when I was quite young. It’s so hard.”

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. There was a lump in her throat to go with the knot in her stomach.

Ridiculous. She was just exhausted, that was all. Getting that call, loading the car, rushing up to Lancaster County, and then all the turmoil of the day—no wonder she felt emotional. She needed a good night’s sleep far more than she needed coffee and dessert.

She also needed to talk with Geneva at some point, to see what she actually remembered about her mother’s employment by Allen Morgan. But that conversation could wait until she could catch the woman alone, without her protective sons.

Geneva came back in the room with a coffee tray, followed by the Amish teenager with another tray of dessert plates. Marisa found her gaze caught by the girl. Would her mother have looked like that, with the solid-color dress, the dark apron, the hair pulled back into a bun and covered by the white net cap? Would she have had those rosy cheeks, that shy manner? Was that what she’d run away to?