by Alison Stone
Liddie spun around from where she worked at the counter. Her face was blotchy, and she seemed on the verge of tears. “You have to let her stay.”
“Apparently, I don’t have much control over what she does. She has ears but doesn’t listen.” Her father narrowed his gaze at her. “She—” her father emphasized the word, making Bridget wonder if he’d ever use her name “—made her decision when she crept out of here in the middle of the night. She didn’t have the decency to say goodbye to your mother.”
“Bridget’s in danger,” Liddie said, alarm in her voice.
“It’s okay, Liddie.” Bridget willed her sister to stop talking.
“She has nowhere else to go. Someone smashed the window in her apartment, and it went up in flames. If Bridget had been in her bedroom, she might have been really hurt. Agent Bryant already told you her coworker was murdered.”
“Murdered,” Caleb said, his tone a mix between being horrified and intrigued.
“Liddie,” Bridget warned her sister again, “please.”
Their father held up his hand. “We should have never allowed you to go to Buffalo, Liddie. It only exposed you to the evils of the outside world. It was a mistake. And now you have brought your drama here.”
A groundswell of anger and disbelief pressed on Bridget’s lungs. Hearing how easily her father dismissed recent events was too much.
“Dat, I had no intention of sharing the details of my life in Buffalo.” She lifted her chin and met her father’s dark eyes. Why can’t you love me for who I am? “I’ll get out of your way.”
“No!” Liddie yelled. She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. “No one is listening. We have to make sure Bridget is safe. She can’t leave.”
Mem repeatedly dried her hands on the dish towel. Their father took a bite of his sandwich, then swallowed. He dabbed at his lips. A crumb settled in his unkempt beard. The silence filled the room with heavy expectation. “She will eat separate from us. She will have chores. If and only if she is ready to ask for forgiveness and be baptized, she can fully join this family. We will not discuss the outside world.”
Apparently, Bridget had been invited to stay. On Dat’s terms. On Amish terms.
She wouldn’t be staying for a minute longer than she had to.
SEVEN
Later that night, Zach found himself driving along the country roads and staring up at the spectacular display of stars visible in the dark night sky. He had been unable to sleep due to the commotion of a few teenagers who had congregated on bicycles in the motel parking lot. Their laughter and loud voices traveled through the thin walls. He could have easily sent them on their way, but his objective was to be low-key, not announce his presence by annoying a handful of bored locals who weren’t really bothering anyone except him.
Zach navigated the roads to the Miller farm. He parked on the side of the road. Back at the motel, he had searched “Amish” on the internet. After scrolling past several hits on reality shows—which he took a leap and assumed weren’t actually “reality”—he clicked on a few sites that discussed the basic tenets of the Amish. Prior to his dive down the rabbit hole, he hadn’t known much about the Amish other than the fact that they didn’t drive cars or use electricity. Their lifestyle was fascinating. From his cursory search, he now had a sense of why Bridget was reluctant to return. The Amish didn’t take kindly to those who left and often shunned those who did, unless they asked for forgiveness.
Zach pushed open the truck’s door, and the sound of crickets filled the night air, louder than he had ever heard. The blackness swallowed him. The weight of his gun on his hip was reassuring. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He looked up and immediately spotted the Little Dipper, sadly the only constellation he could name. It reminded him of the time his parents had taken him and his sister to the beach when they were kids. He had never experienced the night sky without light pollution before. Back when life was still innocent. Back when he and his sister were best buddies and their biggest concern was keeping sand out of their eyes and reapplying sunscreen.
Back before his mother had back surgery and started taking prescription drugs. Back before his father bailed because he was unable or unwilling to manage a family spiraling out of control.
Zach’s thoughts came fast and frantic, like cracks in thinning ice, promising to plunge him into icy-cold water, drowning him. A break from work was the worst thing for him. He needed to keep busy to outrun his thoughts. To make meaning of all the tragedy he had experienced.
He tilted his head from side to side to ease the kinks in his neck. He scanned the Miller farm while he strolled toward the house. He strained his ears for anything out of the ordinary. He chuckled to himself. What was out of the ordinary on an Amish farm? There were no vehicles parked anywhere nearby, so unless the bad guys discovered her location and stomped through the woods or across the fields, Bridget should be safe.
Zach made a sweep of the grounds. Other than the house and barn, there was one other outbuilding. Bridget had mentioned that her grandfather lived there. The stillness was so complete, the kind that could only be achieved in the country on a property where they didn’t use electricity. There wasn’t even the hum of a generator competing with the sounds of nature. He’d go back to his motel room and wait for morning.
There was nothing for him to do here.
Any leads would be in Buffalo. Zach had made a few calls, and a coworker in the DEA office was doing some digging. Standing on the sidelines made him itchy. His supervisor claimed that what he did on his leave was his business, but he doubted she’d go for this. He hoped she wouldn’t extend his leave if he pushed his involvement here too far. Or maybe she’d realize making him take a break was pointless. It wouldn’t change what happened. He was good at his job. He thrived on his undercover work. He had a knack for getting on the inside, gaining the trust of strangers who didn’t generally trust people. The key was to cut off the head of an organization and not focus solely on easy arrests, like the street-level dealers. Dealers were easily replaceable. The traffickers higher up the chain of command needed to be the focal point.
And here he was on the far, far sidelines, sidestepping horse manure on an Amish farm. He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it, then suddenly froze when the distinct scent of sweet tobacco reached him. He tilted his head, and this time he heard shoes shuffling on gravel. He sank back closer to one of the buildings and watched a dark figure emerge from around the side of the structure. The person moved slowly, taking deliberate steps. Before Zach had a chance to say anything, a raspy voice said, “Are you the man who brought my granddaughter home?”
Zach stepped away from the building. Under the stars, light glistened in the elderly gentleman’s eyes. His hair was mussed, and a straggly beard extended down his chest. “Yes, I’m Special Agent Zach Bryant with the DEA.”
“DEA?” the elderly man asked.
“Drug Enforcement Administration.”
The man harrumphed. “I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that you made my daughter Mae happy by bringing Bridget home.”
“I wish it could have been under better circumstances.”
“Yah, well, I suppose if things had been better, she wouldn’t have come home.”
“I didn’t expect to run into anyone in the middle of the night. Is everything okay?” Zach looked around, not able see much in the heavy shadows. He kept his phone and its flashlight app in his pocket, because he didn’t want to be rude.
“I guess I could ask you the same. Is everything okay?” The elderly man ran his hand down his beard in slow, deliberate sweeps.
“Yes, everything seems to be quiet tonight.”
“That’s why we live here.” He seemed to regard his surroundings. “Nice and quiet. Separate from the outside world.”
“I can see the appeal,” Zach said. “Some local kids
decided to throw an impromptu party in the parking lot of the motel. Made it a little hard to sleep.”
“Hmm.” The elderly man seemed to consider that. “Well, I’m old. Don’t sleep much anyway. I enjoy getting out at night.” He looked up at the stars. “Soon the evenings will grow chilly.” He turned his attention on Zach. “If you think it’s quiet now, come out here when the ground’s covered with snow. Friedlich.”
Zach narrowed his gaze and after a beat, the other man said, “Peaceful.”
Zach had taken two years of German in high school and he had learned in his internet search that Pennsylvania Dutch was a derivation of German, not that he was going to respond in kind.
“I’ll have to take your word on that. I’m not much for the cold,” Zach said, for lack of anything else to say. It seemed people of all walks loved to talk weather.
The elderly man tipped his head again. “Mei enkelin is in danger? My granddaughter was never content here.”
Zach ran a hand over the itchy stubble on his jaw, deciding to be straight with this man, if not overly generous with the specifics. “Yes, she was witness to something at work, and she was very brave to come forward. Now it seems she made some people unhappy.”
“Unhappy?” Bridget’s grandfather planted his cane and took another step. “Unhappy seems to be an understatement. Her friend was found dead. And you work for the DEA. Do I understand correctly?”
Zach’s lips twitched at the elderly man’s candor. “You didn’t misunderstand, sir, I’m sorry to say.”
The elderly man lifted his cane a fraction. “My name’s Jeremiah. Might as well get used to calling me that if you’re going to be hanging around.”
“My name’s Zach.”
“Nice to meet you, Zach. I trust you’ll keep Bridget safe.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.” Zach wasn’t sure how long he was going to be hanging around. Bridget should be safe here where no one would think to look for her.
“Jeremiah,” Bridget’s grandfather repeated.
“Yes, s—Jeremiah. I understand you live on the property. In this separate house?”
“Yah, right here. It’s nice that the Amish take care of their old folk.”
“I imagine it is.” When the silence stretched out a beat too long, Zach said, “Well, I better head back to the motel for some shut-eye.” He turned toward the road.
“You’ll need rest for tomorrow. Lots of work to be done.” Jeremiah took a few limping steps toward the small structure from which he had emerged, then he paused. “I have an extra cot. Stay here.”
Zach lifted his head. “I’m fine at the motel.”
Jeremiah shrugged. “No youths rabble-rousing around here. Grab some shut-eye. We could use a few more strong hands to make sure the benches are arranged in the barn.”
“The benches?”
“Yah, they need to be set up in the barn. The entire community will arrive early for the nine o’clock worship service.”
* * *
The aroma of coffee woke Zach from a sound sleep. He rolled over on the narrow cot, and a metal bar that had been jabbing into his back now pressed into his hip. Despite the thin mattress, he had fallen asleep almost as soon as Jeremiah pointed to the folded-up cot at the far wall of an oversize pantry. All he had to do was pop it open and make it up. With the window open a crack, he fell asleep to the sound of nature and not teenage boys goofing off.
Grunting, he pushed to a seated position and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. The first hint of dawn had softened the darkness outside the small window. He reached over and checked the time on his smartphone. Ugh, it was early. He strained to listen, surprised he couldn’t hear a rooster crowing. Instead, he heard the shuffling around of Jeremiah outside the pantry where they had set up Zach’s cot, his host’s idea of privacy.
Zach slipped on his pants and T-shirt and ran a hand over his hair. He could zip back to the motel, shower and get back in time to help with whatever chores Jeremiah had lined up for him. He didn’t mind staying busy. He’d also have to talk to Bridget about the long-term plan. Yesterday had been about getting Bridget to safety. Today was making sure she didn’t run back to Buffalo too soon.
He stuffed his feet into his shoes and stepped out into the kitchen with his laces still untied. Jeremiah sat at the small kitchen table drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.
“Guder mariye.”
Half of Zach’s mouth curved into a smile. “Um...good morning.” He really should have paid more attention in German class.
“How did you sleep?” the elderly gentleman asked before taking another sip from his mug. “There’s a pot of coffee on the stove. Schnell! Schnell!” The old man frowned. “Hurry. We have a lot to do.”
“I’m going to run back to the motel and clean up. I’ll grab coffee later.”
Jeremiah set down his mug. “No time for that. Last-minute chores still need to be done. You need to change.” He lifted his cane that leaned against the table and pointed. “I set some clothes on the bench there.”
Zach followed the man’s cane to a neat pile of men’s clothing. Amish clothes. “I have fresh clothes at the motel. It won’t take me long.”
Jeremiah lifted a bushy gray eyebrow. “No need. Get dressed, move your truck into the Englisch neighbor’s driveway about a half mile down the road. We have a good relationship with our neighbors. Then get back here to help with the preparations. If you plan on protecting my granddaughter, you need to fit in.”
Zach scooped up the clothes and held them to his chest, suddenly feeling compelled to follow the orders of his host.
“The clothes should fit. I used to be a little taller before my back issues.” Jeremiah smoothed his hand over the newspaper spread in front of him. “If they need any tailoring, I’m sure Bridget can handle that for you.”
Zach smothered the smile pulling at his lips. He didn’t know Bridget well, but he suspected asking her to tailor his clothes wasn’t going to ingratiate him to her.
“I’ll get dressed.” Zach had spent a large portion of his young career with the DEA working undercover to get some of the most dangerous criminals, pretending to be someone he wasn’t to get information he needed. He’d have to regard this as more of the same. Sort of.
He closed the door in the pantry and picked up the pair of trousers with a hook and eye closure. No zipper. Interesting. He held them to his waist. They might fit. He tossed off his T-shirt and put on the dark blue shirt.
“I have a pair of suspenders out here for you.”
Zach dragged his thumb around the waistband of his pants. “I think I might need that.” He smoothed his hands down his shirt, wishing he had a full-length mirror. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he had had an appointment to meet Bridget and Ashley for a tip related to potential health-care fraud, and now he was on an Amish farm about to see if he looked good in plain clothing.
A rapping sounded at the door. “You best get moving. Your truck parked out front is going to raise a lot of questions.”
“I’m on it.” Zach yanked open the door. “I’ll move it right now.”
Jeremiah extended his hand with a pair of suspenders.
Zach took them and fastened them to his pants. He rolled back on his heels and patted his midsection. “How do I look?” He supposed his black sneakers would pass.
Jeremiah raised a bushy eyebrow and nodded. “It’ll do. It’ll have to.”
Zach hooked his thumbs under his suspenders then let them snap. “Ouch.”
Jeremiah shook his head with a hint of amusement. “You can admire yourself later.” He reached over and snagged a straw hat off a hook. “You’ll need this, too.”
Zach stuffed it on his head and hustled out the door and down the dirt driveway. The country air smelled sweet. Fresh.
He had officially entered another world.
* * *
Bridget rose before the rest of her family and mixed some instant coffee with hot water from the stove, since she was too lazy to mess with the French press. She missed the coffee maker at home, a rare splurge for her. Grabbing the mug of black coffee, she slipped outside and settled into one of the rockers on the back porch. She missed the stillness of the country, but she hadn’t missed how conflicted she had been while growing up here. She had always known there was more in the world but feared that going after more would condemn her spiritually.
Settling back into the rocker, she took another sip of coffee. Maybe during her short stay she could make peace—however fragile—with her family. Escaping during the middle of the night had made her departure more painful.
With her bare foot, she rocked slowly. It was such a soothing motion. As a kid, she used to sit here with a book until her dat scolded her and told her to get back to her chores. The memory made her smile. Englisch parents would take pride in their children reading instead of being hunched over smartphones or tablets. She had watched them, fascinated, in the waiting room of the clinic, almost oblivious to anything going on around them.
The clinic.
Dr. Ryan.
Ashley. Poor, poor Ashley.
Icy dread pooled in her stomach. Had Ashley’s parents been notified? Did her siblings know? Bridget had worked long days with Ashley, yet she didn’t know a ton about her family life. Now she never would. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
What have I done? If I had never told her about what I saw...
Maybe she’d check her cell phone for any news later. It was tucked away in her bedroom wardrobe, and digging it out would wake Liddie.
Drawing in the rich aroma of the coffee, she kept up the rocking motion, trying to root herself in the moment. Let go and let God. It wasn’t exactly a Bible verse, but she had clung to the mantra after she heard it in the home of the woman who took her in when she first left Hickory Lane. She stared out over the land that hadn’t changed, other than through the seasons, since she had left. The familiarity of that was soothing. The first streaks of pink and purple stretched across the sky. She smiled to herself. When was the last time she sat and studied the sky? She had been so busy with work and school.
