by Alison Stone
Soon, her brothers would be up, feeding the animals and mucking out the stalls. Bridget hadn’t missed that one bit.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something moving out in the field. She turned her attention toward it, fully expecting a deer. Or maybe the neighbor’s cow had broken through the fence again. She squinted and tucked in her chin. It was a person.
Panic sliced through the early morning tranquility. She slid forward on the rocker, and the chair dipped low. Her feet melded to the wooden planks. Her heart raced, and her fight-or-flight response kicked in. She planted her hand on the edge of the chair and stood, her knees wobbly under her.
Had they found her?
She spun around, her long skirt swooshing around her ankles, and reached for the door handle, fearing that she had brought danger to her family’s doorstep. The latch caught. She glanced over her shoulder and nearly collapsed against the back door with utter and complete relief.
“You scared me,” Bridget said, wiping her sweaty palms on the folds of her dress. “What are you doing?” She stepped off the porch, the damp earth cool on her toes, and gave DEA Special Agent Zach Bryant a once-over. “How? Why? Who gave you those clothes?” The first hint of amusement sparked in Bridget’s chest, a welcomed reprieve from the sadness and uncertainty that had kept her tossing and turning last night.
“You want the long or the short version?” Zach tugged on his suspenders and smiled. She wasn’t sure if it was the relief that she was safe or the early morning lighting that made him seem vulnerable. Human. Less law enforcement–like. Maybe it was because the plain clothing had softened his hard edges.
“Want coffee? I’ve got time for the long version.” She turned to go in.
“No, wait. Sit.” Zach stepped up onto the porch and held out his hand to one of the rockers. She sat, and Zach sat next to her. “I had to move my truck. Your grandfather told me to park it at the neighbor’s. Walking across the field seemed like the quickest route back.”
“Yeah, to giving me a heart attack.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d see me.” He kept his tone hushed, almost reverent.
“Why are you here already?” She furrowed her brow. “And dressed in those clothes? What did I miss? Did something happen?” Her tendency to pepper someone with questions when she was nervous was in full force.
“Nothing new to report, so no worries there.” He slid back in the rocker and ran his strong hands up and down the smooth arms of the chair. “I couldn’t sleep, so I drove over last night to make sure the farm was secure, and I ran into your grandfather.”
Bridget smiled. “No further explanation needed.” Her grandfather exuded quiet authority. Mem claimed he was a force to be reckoned with when he was a younger man, but he had allowed the next generation to take up the mantle after his wife died and he settled into the dawdy haus.
Zach seemed to study her for a moment. “Should I be worried about your grandfather?” He offered her a bemused smile.
“No, of all my family, I always felt like he was the one who understood me. I mean, I could never confide in him regarding my plans to leave. I didn’t want to do that to him. He sensed I wanted more, though.” She set her empty coffee mug down on the porch floor and leaned back in the chair and resumed rocking. “I felt his quiet support.”
“Do you miss living here?”
“I’ve missed my family. Living here is a world away. A completely different culture. I could never be a nurse here.”
“I don’t mean to pry with all my questions. The Amish way of life is fascinating.”
“A lot of people feel the same way. That’s why there are so many tourists.” She was unable to hide the disdain in her voice. Most tourists were respectful, but she had had enough bad run-ins to make her weary.
“I was thinking of Ashley this morning,” Bridget said, needing to change the subject. “Did someone let her family know?”
“Yes, her family was notified.” There was a faraway quality to his voice.
“Her poor family.” She let out a shaky breath. “This is all my fault.” She stilled and shifted in her seat to face Zach.
He surprised her by reaching out and covering her hand on the arm of the chair. “This is not your fault. You hear me?”
A lump in her throat kept her from doing more than nodding. She pulled her hand out from under his. “How long do you think I’ll have to stay here?”
Zach ran a hand over his scratchy jaw, debating. She had gotten good at reading people; she had spent a lifetime reading her father’s moods and then used that skill to read her patients.
“I don’t know. My office has people on it. I’m thinking I could expedite the process if I returned to Buffalo.” She sensed he wasn’t telling her something.
Bridget’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she didn’t feel safe here. Not without him. This was ridiculous. She had just met him. Maybe it was because he represented security. Or a link to her new life. If he left, would that somehow leave her unanchored back in a life that she never wanted?
Apparently sensing her concern, he said, “We have to locate Dr. Ryan. He needs to answer our questions. Then we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“What about the clinic?” She had been so worried about her situation, she had neglected to consider the community that relied on the clinic. “Many people have nowhere else to go.” What had she done? A groundswell of self-doubt threatened to overwhelm her.
“My office is searching the clinic today. Depending on what they find, the clinic could be shut down indefinitely. In past cases like this, the clinic eventually reopens under a new director.” He made a smacking sound with his lips. “I won’t lie—it may take time.”
“You mentioned you were on leave from your job,” she said, leaving her comment open-ended, hoping he’d explain.
“Let me worry about that.”
“Okay.”
“You did the right thing,” he said, realizing Ashley’s death weighted heavily on her.
“Ashley wouldn’t think so.”
“Ashley had a mind of her own. You didn’t coerce her into doing anything.”
“I’m not so sure.” Bridget bit her lower lip.
“I am. She was best friends with my sister, Leann.” There was a strange quality to his voice. “Ashley had a strong personality. No way you talked her into anything she already wasn’t on board with.”
“Your sister must be devastated.”
“My sister’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tingles raced across her scalp.
“It was a long time ago.” He spoke softly and stared straight ahead over the field. “She overdosed. Ashley was with her.”
A band of sympathy squeezed all the air from her lungs. “I’m truly sorry. I had no idea.” Why hadn’t Ashley shared that piece of information? No doubt, it had been too painful for everyone.
Zach tapped his index finger on the arm of the rocker. “Leann’s tragic death shaped the course of my life.” He seemed lost in thought, yet eager to tell his sister’s story. “I was serving overseas at the time. I hadn’t realized how bad her drug use had gotten.”
Had Ashley been involved with drugs, too? Bridget didn’t want to ask. Tarnishing her friend’s memory seemed disrespectful in light of her death.
The weight of guilt slumped his shoulders. No reassurances from her would lift the burden. She understood guilt. She was wallowing in the deep end of it right now. “Is that why you’re a DEA agent?”
His face transformed into something painfully handsome when he smiled sadly at her. “Yes. Sometimes I wonder why. It feels futile. The drug problem in this country is enormous. In the case of your clinic, it’ll most likely be shut down once they uncover the problem, a few arrests will be made, but the traffickers will find another health-care provider
looking to make some quick cash. Money they’re willing to risk their lives for.”
Hearing him talk like this wasn’t very reassuring. “You’re doing what you can.”
“It never seems like enough. We need to find a way to end this horrible epidemic before more people die.”
Despite his determination, they both knew more people would die.
EIGHT
Bridget watched in awe as Zach joined right in with preparations for Sunday service. She helped with last-minute food prep, and if her participation wasn’t warranted due to the Bann, no one said anything. She suspected her father would remind her of her place before the first guest arrived. Appearances were everything.
Bridget set the loaf of bread on the table and turned to wipe the crumbs from the counter. From the window over the sink, she watched the guests climb out of their buggies and greet her mother. Her brothers were charged with unhitching the horses and taking them to the fenced-in field. While the female guests would stop into the house with their covered dishes, the men would gather outside until they were called in for the service.
As the first group of women approached the house, a wave of unease warmed Bridget’s skin. She plucked at her white cape covering her dress. She had forgotten how warm it could get with fabric down to her ankles in this heat. Her mother gestured to the house with a bright smile. The Amish neighbors turned their gazes toward the house—toward her?—with wide eyes and polite smiles. Bridget ducked away from the window. Perhaps her mother was eager to let everyone know that her daughter was home. Perhaps the circumstances didn’t matter. She was home. Her mother had hope. The impulse to run upstairs and hide was strong. But Bridget didn’t want to embarrass her mother by disappearing upstairs.
A thudding sound snapped Bridget’s attention toward the stairs. Liddie appeared flushed, excited, as if she were hiding a secret.
“Where have you been? I thought you’d be down here helping already,” Bridget said, regretting her harsh tone that had nothing to do with Liddie’s absence.
Her little sister smiled. “I was helping earlier...” she lowered her voice to a whisper “...I had to make a call.”
“You didn’t get rid of your phone?” Bridget was careful to keep her voice low.
Liddie shrugged, a mischievous smile splitting her face. “Don’t tell.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Bridget checked out the window. The women were still chatting. “Who were you talking to?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Liddie tucked a wayward strand of hair under her bonnet. Her attention also shifted toward the window. “Do you think I could go back to Buffalo with you?”
“What? Why?”
Liddie adjusted her cape over her dress. “No, don’t worry. I’m not going to leave Hickory Lane. I’d like to visit again. That’s all.” Her tone held a forced casualness.
“Why?” Bridget studied her sister’s face. Liddie wouldn’t meet her eyes, a tell that her sister wasn’t being completely honest.
“I made a friend.”
“The person you were talking to on the phone.”
Liddie hitched a shoulder and her eyes shone brightly.
Bridget narrowed her eyes slightly. Her questions would have to wait for another time. “Mem and Dat would never allow it. Besides, I have no idea where I’m going to be living.” She shook her head tightly, too stressed to deal with her sister’s request. “No. It’s not going to happen.”
Liddie rolled her eyes. “I could always do what you did and leave in the middle of the night.”
Bridget felt like she had been sucker punched. “You said you weren’t going to leave Hickory Lane.” The excited chatter of the women grew closer to the screen door. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure,” Liddie said, making a final adjustment to her bonnet. “Zach looks handsome in plain clothes.” Her sister’s eyes flashed mischievously. “Do you suppose he’s hiding his gun somewhere under there?”
“Hush,” Bridget said, shoving a pitcher of water at her sister. “Put this on the table. The older folk should stay hydrated.” Memories of sitting in a sweltering barn or airless home on a backless bench floated to mind. If staying separate meant she couldn’t go to service today, she’d take it.
“Listen to the nurse,” Liddie teased, apparently in an especially good mood. Then she waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s not like we haven’t seen someone pass out at a service before.”
“I’m trying to prevent that.”
Before Liddie had a chance to argue, their mother came bustling in with a few women. Each placed a covered dish on the table to stay safe from bugs until after the service, when everything would be carried outside for the communal meal.
Bridget found herself averting her gaze while she tidied up from the preparations.
“Hello, Bridget.”
She looked up to find Mrs. Yoder standing in front of her, a strained smile on her face. “You’ve come home?” Her somber tone reflected her obvious skepticism.
Bridget felt her mother’s gaze on her. They hadn’t discussed what she should tell the neighbors, perhaps assuming Bridget would stay safely tucked away. Obviously, they hadn’t thought this through.
“We’re happy to have her home,” Bridget’s mother answered for her. “She’s been a big help in getting everything ready today.”
“Oh...” Mrs. Yoder seemed at a loss for words.
“How is Katy?” Bridget quickly asked about Mrs. Yoder’s oldest daughter, who had been one of Bridget’s best friends growing up. Through Liddie, Bridget learned that the bishop had come down especially hard on Katy after Bridget jumped the fence. Some people suspected she knew. That Katy had helped her friend leave. Of course, none of that was true. Bridget had left without telling a soul.
Mrs. Yoder straightened her back and smiled. “My Katy is happily married and keeping a wonderful home.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “She has two little ones.” No doubt, Mrs. Yoder was relieved her daughter hadn’t been tainted by her childhood friend who had broken the rules of the Ordnung.
“I’m happy for her. Please tell her I said hello.” Then in a burst of nostalgia, she added, “I’ve missed her.”
Mrs. Yoder’s lip twitched, and she seemed to be holding something back.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more things to do before the service.” Bridget tipped her head and brushed past the women. She whispered to her mother, “I should probably go upstairs. Dat wouldn’t want me to cause a spectacle.” Any more than she already had.
Her mother’s open expression suggested she wanted to invite her daughter to partake in the day’s service and meal, but she wouldn’t go against her husband’s wishes.
That wasn’t the Amish way.
“It’s okay, Mem,” Bridget reassured her mother. “I found one of my old books in the wardrobe in a box.” It had broken Bridget’s heart to think of her mother tucking away a few of her daughter’s things after she had run away. They were all harmless items, tokens from an innocent childhood. However, the likelihood of her father disposing of her possessions made her mother’s efforts to hold on to them even more precious.
* * *
Zach hung back and watched the Amish women proceed into the barn, which had been converted into a place of worship, followed by the men, in some sort of prearranged order. Then a few stragglers, including teenagers, picked up the rear. Bridget’s grandfather Jeremiah had encouraged Zach to join them, assuring him that visitors were welcome. However, Zach hadn’t been inside a church building since he was a young boy, and he wasn’t going to start now, even if it was a barn. Besides, he felt more comfortable as an observer of all the comers and goers. So far, they all seemed to be Amish people. No threat to Bridget. Since they were all dressed the same, she truly blended in.
He had scanned the faces of the women, wondering if Bridget would jo
in her community. But she was a no-show. After a deep melodic singing began, he walked toward the house. Jeremiah had warned him that the service could last three hours. He entered the empty house and called out to her and heard a rustling upstairs. A few moments later, she came downstairs.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her shoulders visibly sagged. She tore off her bonnet and adjusted a bobby pin in her hair then put the bonnet back on. “Is something wrong?”
“Skipping the service?” He leaned against one of the support beams in the center of the room.
“My father forbade it.” Despite the severity of the claim, there was a light quality to her voice.
“I’d think they’d be happy that you’re home. That they’d want you to go to the service with them.”
Bridget held on to the pine handrail and lowered herself to a seated position on one of the bottom stairs. Her bare feet with pink toes stuck out from her long dress. “My dat has to make everyone think he’s mad at me. I may never know how he really feels. He’s the head of this family, and they look up to him to determine how to act. However, the rules aren’t up to him. The Amish believe in the ultimate form of tough love. If they shun me and keep me ‘separate’—” she lifted her fingers in air quotes for the last word “—the hope is that I’ll see the error of my ways and ask for forgiveness. My dat can’t appear to be accepting of my transgressions. It would set a bad example for my siblings.”
“Ah,” Zach said. “I guess I should have asked you more questions about your living situation before I brought you here.” However, being strict wasn’t the worst crime. Being neglectful and absent were far worse. Many of the young men he came across in gangs had been largely ignored by their families.
“I knew what I was in for when I agreed to come home.”
