Shelter From The Storm. Patricia Davids

       Chapter One

      That couldn’t be Gemma Lapp.

      Jesse Crump turned in his seat to get a better look at the Amish woman on the sidewalk waiting to cross the street. She was wearing a black Amish traveling bonnet and a long dark gray cloak. She was pulling a black wheeled suitcase behind her. He couldn’t get a good look at her face. His driver and coworker, Dale Kaufman, pulled ahead when the light changed, and Jesse lost sight of her. There was nothing outward to suggest it was Gemma other than the Amish clothing but something about her, perhaps her small stature, reminded him strongly of the woman he wished he could forget.

      “What’s the matter?” Dale asked, noticing Jesse staring behind them. “Is something wrong with the load?” He slowed the pickup and trailer carrying two large garden sheds.

      Jesse turned around to stare straight ahead. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

      “That Amish woman waiting to cross the street?”

      Dale knew Gemma. Jesse hoped he had gotten a better look. “Ja, did you see who it was?”

      “I saw she was Amish by her clothing, but I couldn’t see her face because of that big black bonnet. Who did you think it was?”

      “Gemma Lapp.” He had been thinking about her lately. She was on his mind far too often. Perhaps that was why he imagined he saw her.

      Dale glanced his way. “You mean Leroy Lapp’s daughter? I thought she was in Florida. Boy, that would be a great place to live during the winter, wouldn’t it? Have you ever been there?”

      “Nee.” Jesse was sorry he’d said anything. Most of the three-hour drive had been made in silence, the way Jesse liked it, but only after Dale tired of Jesse’s one-word answers to his almost endless chatter.

      Dale accelerated. The ancient truck’s gears grated when he shifted. “It could be that she’s on her way home for a visit. The bus station in Cleary is just down the block from that corner.”

      “Maybe.”

      Dale shook his head. “Nah. Leroy would’ve mentioned something if she was coming home. That girl is the apple of his eye. She was always easy on the eyes if you ask me. Too bad she got baptized before I had the chance to ask her out.”

      Jesse scowled at Dale. The man wasn’t Amish, but he worked for an Amish bishop. “If you want to keep delivering sheds and supplies for Bishop Schultz, you’d better not let him hear such talk.” It was the longest comment Jesse had ever made to the man.

      Dale’s stunned expression proved he got the point. “I meant no disrespect, Jesse. I like Gemma. You know how Leroy is always rattling on about her.”

      Jesse leaned his head back and stared out the window at the homes and small businesses of Cleary, Maine, flashing past. He had eavesdropped on Leroy’s conversations about Gemma a few times. He knew about her job in Pinecrest at a pie shop, about the large number of friends she was making among the Englisch and Amish folks, and how much she loved the ocean, but he had never asked about her himself.

      Bishop Elmer Schultz—like most of the men in their community, including Jesse—had a second occupation, in addition to being a potato farmer. The bishop owned a small business that made storage sheds in various sizes. Jesse had worked for him since coming to Maine