The Prodigal Son Returns. Jan Drexler

a frown on her face. Ne, that wouldn’t do at all. Englischers and Amish just didn’t mix, especially strange, fancy men. No good Amish woman would let him near her and her family.

      Chapter Two

      Bram kept to the shady south side of the gravel road, letting his pace settle into a steady walk that would eat up the four miles to Matthew’s place. It was pure luck his brother-in-law knew about that horse for sale. A week of walking was enough for him. Selling his Studebaker had been a hard sacrifice to make, but it had been a gift from Kavanaugh.

      Too risky to keep.

      Everything was risky since that night on Chicago’s West Side when Elwood Peters had told him his cover was blown.

      Bram loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar to give himself some air. It had been just this hot that April night, but Bram had gone cold with Peters’s terse “You’ve been made.”

      How had Kavanaugh known he was the source for the feds? He had been with the gangster for nearly all of the twelve years he had been in Chicago, from the time he had hit the streets with hayseed still stuck in his hair. Kavanaugh had taken him in, taught him some street smarts, shown him the ropes during Prohibition. Man, what a green kid he had been back then—but Kavanaugh liked him, said he had promise. Sure, some of the other guys had been jealous of him, but nobody messed with one of Kavanaugh’s boys.

      But it was Elwood Peters who had made a man of him. The Prohibition agent had seen his potential and recruited him to be an informant.

      Bram shook his head. No, Peters had done more than just recruit him. He had saved his life. Before Peters came along, Bram had been on the same track as the rest of Kavanaugh’s boys—just waiting for his chance to take the boss down. Even though he had seen what happened to the guy who made his move and failed, Bram didn’t care. What did he have to live for, anyway?

      Then he had run into Peters. Over the past ten years, Peters’s job had changed from Prohibition agent, to Treasury agent, to the Federal Bureau, and he had taken Bram with him as his eyes on the street. It had worked out well for both of them.

      Bram had shared everything with the older man—everything except his past and his real name. Peters knew him as Dutch, the name Kavanaugh had dubbed him with the first time they met. Bram had added a last name—Sutter—and from then on, Bram Lapp had disappeared into the hazy mist of fading years.

      Until now.

      Peters was sure Kavanaugh had moved his operation to northern Indiana after Bram’s information had led to the breakup of his gang in Chicago, but he needed to know where the boss had gone. Bram was supposed to go with Kavanaugh when he left town, but once his cover was blown, he had to change his plans. He’d be dead if Kavanaugh found him, but he couldn’t let the gangster escape, either. He’d never be safe until Kavanaugh was out of the way.

      Killer Kavanaugh never gave up until he had his revenge.

      And then Bram had come up with this new, harebrained idea. It seemed like such a good idea in Chicago—go undercover as himself, Bram Lapp, the green Amish kid from Indiana.

      But he wasn’t green anymore. He had seen and done things the Amish kid he had been couldn’t imagine. He had the skills to keep himself alive on the Chicago streets, but would those same skills be useful to him here as he hunted for Kavanaugh’s new center of operations? They had to be.

      Bram whooshed out a breath. Meanwhile, here he was slipping away into the life he had left twelve years ago. It wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. The deeper he went into this cover, the more he was losing the edge he needed to keep him alive. But without the cover, without immersing himself into this community, it would be impossible to fade into the background the way he needed to.

      And there was only one way to fade into this background: he needed to look and act the same as every other Amishman around. Any difference would make him stick out like a sore thumb.

      The list. He ticked off the items in his mind as he walked. He had bought the buggy and horse. Next would be a place to farm, equipment and workhorses, and church every other Sunday. And clothes. This drape suit that helped him blend in on Chicago’s West Side stuck out too much around here. Besides, his jacket was ruined after sliding in the dirt with that little Amish girl.

      That little girl was something else. So much like his younger sisters at that age...

      Bram took off his felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the air to his scalp. Why did remembering his sisters make him think of a wife and a family?

      The curve of Ellie Miller’s neck eased into his thoughts. He closed his eyes to capture the moment she’d faced him on her back porch. One strand of soft brown hair had escaped from under her kapp and fallen softly along the side of her face. She’d have to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. What would it feel like if he did it for her? He saw the smile she would give him as he caressed her cheek....

      Bram stopped the direction of his thoughts with a firm shake of his head. He knew a woman like that wouldn’t even look at him. Not Bram Lapp. Not with his past. And not with the job he had to do. No, a woman like that wasn’t for him. He’d rather take his chances alone.

      Wheels crunching through the gravel on the road behind him made Bram sidestep into the cover of some overhanging branches. Buggy wheels and horse’s hooves, not a car. He rolled his shoulders as he waited for the buggy to overtake him. He had to stop being so jumpy. No one knew he was here. Even Peters only had a vague idea of the direction he had gone.

      “Bram!”

      Bram waved as the buggy caught up to him, and his brother-in-law pulled the horse to a halt.

      “You’ll be wanting a ride.” Matthew was a man to get to his point quickly.

      “Ja, denki.”

      The back of the buggy held boxes of supplies, and a frantic peeping rose from one as the buggy lurched forward.

      “You bought some chicks?”

      “Ja. I thought the Yoders might have some to trade for a couple bales of hay.” Matthew looked at Bram with a grin. “Annie loves getting new chicks.”

      Bram let this idea settle in his mind. His sister hadn’t asked for chicks, as far as he knew. Matthew had gotten them because he thought Annie might like them. Was that how a real husband acted?

      “Did you find the Stoltzfus farm?” Matthew asked.

      “Ja. John had a nice gelding for sale, just as you said. I’ll pick him up on Tuesday.”

      “I knew John would take care of you. He’s a good man.”

      “Ja, he is.”

      A good man. Bram hadn’t known too many of those. He slid a glance at Matthew. His little sister had found a good man.

      Matthew pointed ahead with the buggy whip. “Looks like the Jackson place is for sale. It might be the kind of place you’ve been looking for.”

      He stopped the horse at the end of the lane. The for-sale sign at the roadside looked new, but the graying barn and leaning fence posts were witness to the toll the recent hard times had taken on the English farmers. Forty acres, the sign said, along with the name of the bank that held the foreclosure. A too-familiar sign these past few years.

      “The Jackson place? Do you know why they lost the farm?”

      “I’m not sure, but I could see it coming. Ralph Jackson was too quick to spend his money as soon as he sold his crops, and then he’d buy the next year’s seed on credit. He only owned the place about five years, but it was long enough to work it into the ground.”

      “It’s vacant. Let’s look around.”

      Matthew pulled the buggy into the lane, and they walked to the barn. Bram examined the siding, the beams and the fences. The barn needed a lot of work, but the structure was sound.

      “Forty