Seeking Amish Shelter

by Alison Stone

  “You have to.” His tone was even, ominous.

  “I can’t. Go.” She leaned forward and tapped on the dash, like she used to slap the hindquarters of Honey, the family’s American Saddlebred. When he didn’t move, she added, “Please.” Her mind whirled. “Take me back to Buffalo. I’ll reach out to the university. Maybe they can find a spot in the dorms for me. They might be open already. Right?” When he still didn’t move, she shifted in her seat, her brow furrowed. “What are you waiting for?” She didn’t bother to hide her frustration.

  “You have to stay.” He held out his smartphone. “A call came in.”

  Zach reached for her hand, and she pulled it away. If he couldn’t comfort her, he couldn’t give her bad news, right? As she clutched her hand to her chest, dread spread across her skin, making her feel like she had downed three cups of coffee on an empty stomach. Finally, she was able to force out a single word: “Ashley?”

  “Yes.” His warm brown eyes radiated his hurt. “They found Ashley near the bike path.”

  Bridget’s brow twitched. “She liked to run there.” Her phone had been smashed in the apartment. “I told her it wasn’t safe.” This had nothing to do with running alone. “Is she...?” She pressed her fist to her mouth in a feeble attempt to stop the overwhelming emotion welling up inside her.

  No, no, no. Ashley’s fine. She’s fine.

  Zach reached for her wrist and pulled her fist away from her mouth. He tilted his head. A sad smile slanted his lips. Every movement, every moment, marked time.

  This moment.

  An eternity.

  Before and after.

  Her shoulders sagged, and she slumped into the seat.

  “Bridget...” Zach slid his hand up from her wrist to her hand and squeezed it. She slowly lifted her face to meet his consoling gaze. Her heartbeat raced in her chest. “I’m so sorry. Ashley’s dead.”

  Bridget’s hands sought the release of the too-tight seat belt. “This had nothing to do with the clinic. Did it?” Did it? This was a horrible, unrelated tragedy. Ashley had been jogging alone on a bike path. That’s what it was. Her death was unrelated to the apartment fire, to the near miss in the crosswalk. It had to be.

  “My business card was crammed down her throat.”

  Bridget bent over and covered her face with her hands. “This is all my fault.”

  She felt Zach’s warm hand on her arm. “This is not your fault,” he whispered. “Please stay here, for your safety.”

  She pulled her hands away from her face and swiped at a tear. “I can’t. I’m not welcomed.”

  “Your parents must understand.” He tipped his head to look out the passenger window. Cornfields waved in the wind.

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She sniffed. Hold it together.

  “I have to keep you safe until they find the parties responsible.” His phone dinged, and he quickly checked it. If the text had anything to do with her or Ashley or Dr. Ryan, he didn’t say.

  Every fiber of her body vibrated with the nightmare she found herself in. “My father won’t let me stay. Perhaps if you can convince him?” Bridget knew she was taking the coward’s way out. She also knew that her father could never be swayed from his convictions, especially by an outsider.

  SIX

  Zach followed Bridget, a step behind, as she readjusted the bonnet on her head after ripping it off in frustration moments ago. She frantically tucked fine strands of hair under the white material, as if donning armor to approach her father. Her upswept hair exposed her delicate neck. She carefully navigated the rutted driveway. There was much he wanted to ask her about growing up in an Amish community, but it would have to wait. He was about to get a crash course in what it would take to convince a stern Amish father to allow his prodigal daughter to return—albeit temporarily. Zach’d appeal to the man’s sense of paternal love. That should be universal. His daughter’s life was in danger.

  Unfortunately, not all parents were created equal. His own mother came to mind, and he quickly dismissed the thought. This case was challenging his finely honed skills of compartmentalization.

  “He’s never going to go for this,” Bridget muttered when they reached the steps to the front porch. “I was foolish to come back. Or maybe I was foolish to report what I saw at the clinic.”

  Before Zach had a chance to reassure her, a man he suspected was her father opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. He crossed his arms over his chest and arranged his face in a stern expression. Bridget came by her conclusions that this was going to be a hard sell honestly. Her mother joined them. Her body language softened, but the subtle tip of her head suggested she’d defer to her husband.

  “You came back,” her father said without much emotion.

  “Yah. This is...” Bridget seemed to be debating how to introduce Zach. Since she had hoped to keep him away from her parents, they had never discussed this. Perhaps they’d respond to the bold truth.

  “Sir, ma’am—” He offered his hand, and when neither made an effort to accept it, he dropped it. “I’m Agent Zach Bryant.”

  “This is my mother, Mae, and my father, Amos,” Bridget said.

  “Your daughter—”

  “What did you do?” Her father glared at her.

  “Sir, your daughter has been very brave.”

  “Too brave, if you ask me.” Amos shifted his crossed arms under his long beard.

  Next to Zach, Bridget drew in a shaky breath. Her mother gently touched her husband’s arm. Her father tipped his straw hat slightly, suggesting Zach should go on.

  “Bridget needs a place to stay,” Zach said, “for a short time.”

  “We’re not a hotel.” Amos’s lips twitched. “What’s going on, and is there a reason my daughter’s not speaking for herself?” He adjusted his stance and slipped his thumbs under his suspenders. He was definitely a man who ruled his home. Zach supposed there was nothing wrong with having a strong male role model, as long as he was a benevolent leader.

  “Dat.” Bridget spoke up. “A friend of mine was killed, and I’m afraid the same people are going to hurt me.” Her voice held a confidence that surprised Zach.

  “Oh dear.” Her mother pressed a hand to her chest. “Umkumme...?” Killed, she muttered.

  “You have brought this on yourself by going into the outside world. You didn’t believe me when I told you about the evil in the Englisch world.” Her father shook his head in disgust.

  Zach bit back his strong impulse to defend Bridget and gave her room to do it herself. He couldn’t believe her father was willing to make a judgment without knowing the details.

  “Can I stay or not?” Bridget spit out. “I promise I won’t be here long.”

  A muscle ticked in her father’s jaw. He obviously wasn’t used to his daughter speaking to him like this.

  “Please.” Bridget softened her tone, seemingly resigned that she’d have to mend fences if she wanted to stay in Hickory Lane. “I’m tired and I’m scared.”

  Her father’s posture relaxed, seemingly receptive to his daughter’s apology. “Why was your friend killed and why are they after you?”

  Zach gently touched Bridget’s hand. “It would be better if we didn’t discuss that.”

  “You’re asking to stay in my home,” her father said, his voice even.

  “Yah, Dat. I never told anyone I was Amish. No one would ever find me here.” Bridget smiled tightly. “I would never knowingly put my family in danger.”

  His nostrils flared, and it seemed to take considerable restraint for him not to speak his mind.

  “Amos, we can find it in our hearts to let our daughter come home,” her mother said, a pleading quality to her voice.

  Amos tipped his head slightly and turned on his heel and strode down the porch steps toward the barn. Her mother turned to them. �
��You are welcome to come home, Bridget.”

  “What about Dat?” Across the yard, Amos yanked open the barn door and then disappeared inside.

  “In his own way, he has agreed. Don’t push him,” her mother warned. “Your friend cannot stay here, though. That would get the neighbors talking.” Her warm gaze met Zach’s. “The Amish like to stay separate. That includes from those in law enforcement.”

  He nodded. “I understand.” Truth be told, he understood nothing about the Amish. “I’ll check in at the hotel in town.”

  “Why do you need to stay in town? No one knows I’m here,” Bridget said. “Why can’t you go back to Buffalo and let me know when it’s safe to return home?”

  “You are home,” her mother whispered, and for the first time Zach could see how Bridget’s coming here was going to take an emotional toll on her entire family.

  How did he explain that he couldn’t leave her unprotected? He refused to make another mistake that cost an innocent person their life, never mind that he was supposed to be on leave from the DEA. For now, that made it easier because he could do whatever he thought necessary without clearing it with his supervisor. “I’ll stay close for now. Maybe that will change,” he said to appease her.

  Bridget seemed to regard him with a sense of apprehension.

  “I’ll be right in town. Minutes away.” Then he turned to her mother. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” Zach said before descending the porch steps. He decided against giving Bridget last-minute instructions to keep a low profile. She was a smart woman, and he didn’t want to cause more concern for her sweet mother, who seemed to be basking in the glow of her long-lost daughter’s return. Zach’s goal was to keep Bridget safe, not meddle in family dynamics that were far more complicated than his pay grade, especially because he was technically off duty.

  * * *

  Bridget stood on the porch of her childhood home and watched Zach pull away in his truck. A wave of unease pressed into her heart. It was hard to imagine that twenty-four hours ago she was taking blood pressure and weights of patients before they saw the doctor, trying to act like everything was okay. Had Dr. Ryan suspected anything? Not possible. He had been his usual friendly self.

  A soft breeze blew a stray strand of hair across her face. With the hook of her finger, she tugged it away and turned to take in the farm. Her mother and sister had disappeared into the house. Inside the barn across the way, her father was probably taking his aggression out on his chores. She imagined her brothers were in the barn doing their chores, too, otherwise they would have come to greet her.

  Bridget lowered herself onto the top step and smoothed her skirt. Her brothers. They had been little guys when she left. Soon they’d be about to embark on their own adventures. Bending forward, she hugged her thighs. She had really missed her family. She had kept homesickness at bay by not letting herself think about what she was missing. Now that she was back here, she could no longer deny her sense of loss.

  When she had left under the cloak of darkness all those years ago, she feared the only time she’d ever return would be to help bury her parents. She was grateful to have this time with her parents while still on this side of heaven. Sadly, her return wouldn’t lead to some grand reconciliation, not unless she got down on bended knee, then received baptism and married.

  There would be no happily-ever-after for her here among the Amish.

  Bridget closed her eyes and inhaled. Sweet grass. A hint of manure. Dried cornstalks. Familiar. She blinked away the threatening tears. She couldn’t put this homecoming—however temporary—off any longer. She rose to her feet and crossed the porch to the screen door, the same one she had carefully closed so her parents wouldn’t hear her leave in the middle of the night.

  She stepped inside, this time not caring if the door clacked in its frame behind her. She followed the smell of her mother’s fresh-baked bread. “Hi, Mem.” Her mother was stirring something on the stove.

  Her mother set the wooden spoon on the ceramic rest and turned around. A small smile that spoke volumes curved her lips. “You’re just in time to help with preparations for tomorrow.”

  Bridget scrunched up her nose, momentarily confused. “You’re hosting Sunday service tomorrow?” What unfortunate timing.

  “Yah, and many hands make light work.”

  Renewed dread pooled in her gut. She’d have to face the entire community. Maybe she could hide in her bedroom.

  “Could you help your sister cut the celery?” her mother asked.

  “Um...sure.” Bridget locked gazes with Liddie who seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Her mother wiped her hands on her apron. “The celery has already been rinsed.”

  Bridget grabbed a knife and another cutting board and began chopping. The activity, here with her mother and sister, brought her back to a life she’d thought she had abandoned forever. Liddie playfully nudged her with her elbow, and Bridget rolled her eyes.

  A moment later there was a commotion at the side door leading into the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen. Two young men she barely recognized stood there watching her with wide eyes. “Dat said you were home. I had to see for myself,” Elijah said, his voice cracking. He was no longer a little boy.

  The youngest brother was more reserved. Caleb had been so much younger when Bridget left Hickory Lane.

  “It’s really me.” Bridget set the knife down. “My, how you boys have grown.” She gestured with her chin toward Elijah. “The girls must be swarming around you at Sunday singings.”

  “The only thing that’s swarming around him are the flies,” Caleb deadpanned, scrunching up his nose.

  “Now, that’s not nice,” their mother scolded. “Now go clean up for lunch. Your sister will make you sandwiches.”

  Without missing a beat, Bridget made her brothers sandwiches and set them on plates on the table. The boys disappeared and returned after washing their hands. They slipped into their chairs and scarfed down their food. When she was growing up here, they were never allowed to eat until their father had sat down at the head of the table. She wondered what else had changed since she left.

  She went back to help her mom make food preparations for tomorrow. A rustling sounded at the back door, and Bridget found herself tightening her grip around the knife. She set it down and waited for the inevitability of the confrontation with her dad.

  Suddenly she felt sixteen again the morning after she had missed her Sunday-night curfew. Moses Lapp, a boy who liked her, had refused to take her home, instead insisting they hang out with a few other young couples. Bridget didn’t feel comfortable among her Amish peers. They were pairing up with the intention of settling down. Her good friend Katy came to mind. Bridget had no doubt she was married and wondered how many kids she had by now.

  She released a slow breath. She wasn’t that same girl.

  Her father sat down at his place at the table without saying a word. The air hung thick with tension.

  “Bridget, your father would like a sandwich,” her mother said.

  “She should not be serving me food.” Her father pushed back from the table and stilled, his arms crossed over his suspenders like a petulant child.

  Her mother held out her hand, encouraging him to relax. “I’ll get it. I’m sorry. I got distracted with everything going on,” Mae said apologetically.

  “We don’t need any more distractions around here,” her father said, placing his hands flat on the table, not looking in Bridget’s direction. “We have a lot of preparation to do for tomorrow. We need a little less horseplay from Elijah and Caleb, or we could have had the barn swept out already. And don’t forget Levi should be here with the benches after lunch.”

  “We’ll get it all done,” her mother said reassuringly. “We always do.” Each family in the district took turns hosting Sunday service every other week. Due to the size of the district, each family onl
y had to host it once every year—or at least, that’s how it had always been.

  “Too many distractions,” her father muttered again.

  A knot twisted in Bridget’s heart. Since she had secreted away, she had only imagined the stress she had created by leaving. She had imagined that her family had been going on with their lives just as before, but without her. Seeing them now made her sadder. Leaving had affected everyone. Why had she been so selfish? Because she wanted to become a nurse.

  Bridget found herself mute in the presence of her father. She had always been afraid of him. He ruled with an iron fist. She dried her hands on her apron, then stepped out on the back porch, leaving only the screen door between them. The community would gather tomorrow at her childhood home, and she would be forced to stay separate. It would only cause problems for her parents if they didn’t make an example of her.

  Maybe she’d get to hide out in her bedroom after all.

  “Here’s your lunch.” Bridget could hear her mother’s soothing voice through the screen door. Forever the peacemaker.

  “Mae, she will remain separate. She cannot dine with us. She cannot worship with us. We cannot condone her actions,” her father instructed her mother. “Until she repents and goes down on bended knee in front of the bishop, she must be under the Bann.”

  Anger began to replace the emptiness in Bridget’s heart. Her father couldn’t even use her name. She grabbed the handle on the screen door and yanked it open. The door bounced off the wood siding, then swung back and slammed shut in its frame. She stormed into the kitchen. “Dat, I have no plans to stay longer than I have to.”

  Her father’s dark eyes flared wide, obviously surprised by her outburst. She had never confronted him. Until now. “Perhaps you should leave now, then. Since you’re too ashamed to tell anyone that you come from an Amish home.”

  “Why would I tell anyone? They’d only think I was a freak.” Bridget’s pulse roared in her ears. Bile tickled the back of her throat. Exploding at her father would serve no purpose other than to release the anger and fear she had been bottling up since Zach told her Ashley was dead.