Seeking Amish Shelter

by Alison Stone

  He wasn’t pretending with her.

  The green-and-white Thruway signs announcing the first few Buffalo exits came into view. He scrubbed his hand across his face when he saw the familiar sign announcing the exit to his childhood neighborhood. He lived in Buffalo, but he rarely drove the same streets he used to travel on his first ten-speed bike.

  As if the truck had a mind of its own, Zach found himself merging off the highway. It was getting late, so he decided he’d drive by his mother’s house. He wouldn’t stop.

  Maybe.

  He passed the ice cream stand—a long line snaked in front of a single order window—the same one that he and his little sister used to ride their bikes to and buy cones from with the money he made cutting grass. He shoved aside the thought and almost turned back before he decided to push through, despite the feelings of nostalgia.

  Zach slowed as he drove down his tree-lined childhood street. Each tree and house were so familiar he could tell which trees had died or been cut back since his days of playing hide-and-seek in the neighborhood. All the shades on the windows on the Meadows’s house were drawn. Maybe they were all at Ashley’s wake?

  Too much death in his line of business.

  His childhood home hunkered in the gathering shadows. He pulled over along the curb. With his bent arm resting on the open window frame, he sat in silence, trying to remember the kid he had once been. Despite the five-year age gap, he and his little sister had been close. Very close. In one of his psychology classes in college, he’d learned that kids of dysfunctional parents tended to lean on one another because that’s all they had. He didn’t need to take a three-credit college-level class to learn that. He lived it.

  His attention drifted to the small detached garage. The shadow of the basketball net brought him back to their spirited games of H-O-R-S-E. Leann loved that game. He was about to write this off as a very bad idea when the distinct scent of cigarette smoke reached his nose. The sickening, sweet scent of his mother’s brand. Then he saw it. The orange glow grew brighter.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Her raspy voice floated across the yard.

  Zach closed his eyes momentarily to gather himself. He unclicked his seat belt and climbed out. He crossed the yard. He hadn’t been here since the day of Leann’s funeral.

  He walked up to the porch and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. “Hi, Mom.” The word sounded foreign on his lips.

  “Zachary.” She said his name reverently, then stiffened. “Are you in the neighborhood because of Ashley?” He felt his mother’s watchful gaze from the shadows.

  “This whole case got me thinking about home,” he admitted.

  The tip of her cigarette glowed orange again. She released a billow of smoke between thin lips. “Least something got you back here.” A strangled laugh-cough took him right back to his youth.

  Zach climbed the steps and remembered posing here in his tux before prom. He leaned back against the railing, facing his mom, his eyes adjusting to the dusk. “I’ve been busy.”

  His mother had aged. Life hadn’t been kind to her. He had expected her to be itching for a fight. Man, she loved a good fight. He held his breath. Her face softened, and she ran the back of her cigarette hand across her cheek. “I don’t blame you for not coming around.” She cleared her throat. “How have you been?”

  “I’m okay. Work’s busy.” His mom had laughed when he signed on with the DEA, suggesting the work was a bit on the nose. “Lots of drugs in the world.”

  “Was Ashley into drugs?” His mother looked out over the yard in a thousand-mile stare. “Is that how she ended up murdered?”

  “No. By all accounts, Ashley was a good kid. Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “She came here looking for you. Maybe if I hadn’t given her your card.” His mother’s voice cracked for the first time.

  “Not your fault, Mom,” Zach said, his heart softening toward the only family he had left.

  A soft laugh escaped her lips. “I better have my hearing checked. I never could do anything right in your mind.”

  His mother had gotten lost in her struggle with addiction. So had her daughter. And if he was being honest, he had, too. He had become single-minded in his focus. So judgmental.

  Unforgiving.

  His brief time in Hickory Lane had had a profound impact on him.

  “How have you been doing, Mom?”

  “Still working at the garden center.” She had lost her nursing license years ago. She stubbed out her cigarette on the ashtray next to her chair. “I’ve been sober three years now.”

  Three years!

  “That’s great.” Zach leaned back and wrapped his hands around the railing. He hated how formal they sounded.

  “Yeah, I’m proud of myself.” She stood and approached him. She placed the palm of her hand on his cheek. “My baby boy.”

  Emotion welled up in his throat, making it impossible to speak. The familiar scent of her shampoo mingled with the tobacco still lingering in the air.

  “Do you have anyone special?” She tilted her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Sure you do. Look at you.”

  “There’s someone,” he found himself saying. “But my job makes it hard.”

  His mother’s lips pinched. “Don’t put anything above a loved one. Not anything.”

  Zach made a noncommittal sound. A loved one? It seemed too early to put Bridget in that category.

  She dropped her hand and inhaled deeply. “You are one of the few things I did right.”

  Zach forced an awkward smile. After a moment, he found his voice. “I know you did your best.”

  His mother tucked in her chin, then looked up at him. Tears shone in her eyes. “You and your sister deserved more. I wish I had been able to give it to you. To both of you.” Her regret was palpable.

  “You need to forgive yourself.”

  His mother dipped her head.

  The next words he had to force through the emotion clogging his throat. “I forgive you. You’re human. We all make mistakes.”

  His mother gripped the gold pendant hanging around her neck, and a single tear tracked own her cheek.

  Zach tapped his palm on the railing. “Well, I better go.”

  His mother took a step back and swatted at what he suspected was a mosquito. “Yes, it’s getting buggy out here.” She gave him a sad smile. “I’m glad you stopped by, Zachary. Maybe you’ll come back again soon. When you have more time.”

  “Yeah...” He descended the steps.

  “Maybe you can bring your friend,” she added hopefully.

  “Maybe.” He climbed into his truck and slammed the door. A myriad of emotions played at his heartstrings. Lightness. Relief. Hope. Maybe there was something to be said about this forgiveness stuff.

  FOURTEEN

  A crack of thunder startled Bridget awake. She pulled the quilt up to her ear, wishing she could drift back to sleep in her childhood bed. She had been up late many nights over the past two weeks. She and Zach had gotten into a routine of catching up late in the evening. She’d tuck her cell phone between her shoulder and ear and let his deep voice wash over her while she rocked slowly in one of the back porch chairs. It was her favorite time of day.

  Fortunately, she found a way to charge her phone and laptop by using her grandfather’s generator that conveniently had the right outlet. Bridget believed he secretly enjoyed helping her stay in touch with Zach despite his half-hearted reminders that she was breaking the rules. Seemed to take one rule breaker to facilitate another one.

  During their conversations, she and Zach shared everything from the details about her quiet days on the farm to how he was keeping busy by completing long-neglected house projects. There weren’t many updates on her case, but he finally opened up to her on why he was on leave from the DEA. He was struggling with his guilt over the
death of a young confidential informant. He felt responsible. The CI had taken too many risks. Now his boss worried Zach was on the cusp of burnout and needed to walk away. Albeit temporarily. Which lead to discussions about his plans to return to work next week. Would he be allowed to go undercover? Would he still have time for their phone calls?

  On her end, she wondered if she’d ever catch up on her nursing classes that weren’t online. She hated to postpone graduation next spring.

  And where, exactly, did they think this relationship was going?

  Another crash, this time louder, made her bolt upright. She blinked a few times. Heavy rain blurred the view from her second-story bedroom window. Liddie’s bed was empty. Farm chores didn’t stop for bad weather.

  A familiar guilt nudged her. She hadn’t exactly been carrying her weight since she’d been back, mostly because she had really hoped that it was going to be a very temporary situation. Sure, she helped her mem with dinner and keeping the house, but she had left the farm chores to her siblings and her dat. He was the only one actively shunning her, which basically meant he didn’t talk to her and she had to eat her dinner on the back porch. Other than that, she had been able to get reacquainted with her family.

  Boy, she had missed them. The daily interaction. The laughter.

  Deep down, she worried that the longer she stayed in Hickory Lane, the harder it would be to leave again. She tossed the quilt back and quickly got dressed. She scurried downstairs in bare feet and came up short when she found her parents huddled in the kitchen talking in hushed tones. Bridget’s blood ran cold.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  Her mother looked on the verge of tears, and her father stopped speaking. More secrets.

  Moving closer, Bridget’s heart thudded in her throat. “Is someone hurt?” Her frantic gaze went to the window, then back to her parents. “Are my brothers okay? Liddie? Please, what’s wrong?”

  Her mother took a step toward her, twisting a dishrag in her hands. “No one is hurt. Your brothers are in the barn doing their chores.”

  “Is Liddie with them?” Bridget rushed to the mudroom by the back door and stuffed her feet into one of her boots, the leather cold from the early morning draft swirling in under the back door.

  Her father’s gaze cut through her. “Liddie’s not here.” He sounded angry, not distraught, unlike her mother.

  Bridget straightened from tying her boot. Icy dread pooled in her gut. “What do you mean?” She wanted to shake her stoic dad. Liddie hadn’t mentioned anything about going anywhere. Actually, she’d seemed exceptionally cheery lately. Bridget had thought it was because her big sister had returned.

  “It seems...” Her father’s cautionary look of warning made her mother’s voice trail off.

  “You have to tell me,” Bridget pleaded.

  Her father turned his stony gaze on his oldest daughter. “We don’t have to tell you anything. You made your choice to leave this family.”

  Bridget focused on unclenching her hands, trying to calm her growing frustration. “I know you’re mad at me. Stay mad at me. But this isn’t about me—it’s about Liddie. Why are you upset and where is my sister?”

  Her mother sank into one of the kitchen chairs. The oil in the pan on the stove was popping over the flame. Bridget turned off the gas stove and froze, realization slowly creeping in. Her mother was devastated, and her father was his usual stern self.

  Rewind the clock five years. Bridget had crept out in the middle of the night and her sister must have woken up to Bridget’s empty bed. Her parents must have huddled in the kitchen, debating what to do. A new wave of guilt slammed into her. Was this how it had been when Bridget disappeared in the middle of the night? Of course, it was. How truly selfish she had been.

  What other choice did she have?

  Her pulse ticked in her head. She squared her shoulders and asked, “Do either of you have any idea where Liddie might have gone?”

  Her mother slowly shook her head. Her ivory skin grew paler. Bridget turned to her father. “Dat, any ideas?” She wasn’t hopeful. Amish children didn’t usually confide in their parents.

  Bridget felt her palms sweat.

  Why hadn’t Liddie confided in her? What if Liddie didn’t leave on her own? What if Bridget had brought evil to the peaceful farm? She grew dizzy with the thought.

  Bridget toed off her boot and took the stairs two at a time, her long dress flapping around her legs. She tore open the door to the closet and dropped to her knees. She pulled out the folded blanket. Her phone hit the hardwood floor with a resounding clack.

  She patted the entire blanket, then stretched into the closet and checked the far back corners. Nothing.

  She sank back on her heels. A sick wave rolled over her.

  Liddie’s phone was gone.

  Bridget scooped up her phone and checked for reception. Three bars. Thank You, God. With shaky fingers, she called Zach. He answered on the first ring.

  * * *

  Zach was lulled out of a fitful sleep by the subtle vibration of his cell phone. He had put it on silent before he collapsed into bed after talking to Bridget late into the night. He feared their budding relationship would complicate his going back to work next week. Well, not if he was stuck behind a desk.

  He palmed the offending device and dragged it toward him. He cocked one eye open and looked at the display: Bridget. He pushed up onto an elbow and swiped his finger over the screen. “Hello.”

  “Zach, sorry to wake you.” He could hear the panic in her voice.

  “I was up,” he said without thinking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Liddie’s gone.” Before he had a chance to ask her to clarify, she added, “She wasn’t in her bed when I woke up. No one knows where she went. Her cell phone’s missing. That must mean she went on her own. That she’s not in danger.” The last statement sounded more like a question, and he didn’t have the answer.

  “Did she say anything about leaving?” If she had, Bridget had never mentioned it in their marathon late-night phone calls.

  “No.” The single word came out in a rush. “I thought we had patched things up a bit and that she would have confided in me.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “I never told her I was leaving years ago,” she muttered. “I mean, I thought I was protecting her from getting into trouble with our parents or the elders.” He could imagine her pained expression. “I’m worried she’s doing this to get back at me.”

  “Don’t go there.” He pulled clean clothes out of his dresser drawers and headed toward the shower. “I’ll help you find her. Any idea where she may have gone?”

  “I could contact some of the people who helped me when I left.” Her voice grew quiet, as if the phone had moved away from her mouth. “I’m not sure if they have the same phone numbers or if they’re still doing that sort of thing.”

  “Make a few calls. Meanwhile...” He glanced at the digital clock. “I can be there in about an hour.”

  “Thank you. I’d feel better if we could drive around town and look for her. Maybe she slipped out with friends.”

  “Sit tight.”

  * * *

  Bridget ripped off her bonnet and changed into street clothes. She didn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb when Zach picked her up. Liddie may have run off like she had, but Bridget had to make sure.

  She bounded back down the stairs and tipped her head to acknowledge her parents and a few of the neighbors gathered in the kitchen. Already.

  Mrs. Yoder, the grandmother of the child she had saved from choking, sat next to Bridget’s mother, no doubt having made the untouched tea sitting in front of them. Her friend’s mother smiled softly at Bridget, perhaps forgiving her for any past wrongs.

  The atmosphere was downright morose, as if someone had died. Well, for those who left the fold, it was a death of sorts
.

  Self-consciously Bridget touched her bun. “I’m going out to look for Liddie.” An apology for her clothing died on her lips. She loved her parents. She respected their ways. But she wasn’t going to keep apologizing for who she was.

  Her mother sat at the table with clasped hands. A crease lined her father’s forehead, registering his silent disapproval. Bridget ran out the back door and headed toward the barn, sidestepping huge puddles. Thankfully the rain had stopped. Bridget had expected to find her brothers doing their chores. Instead they were sitting on hay bales talking to another young Amish man who had his back to her. She stopped in the doorway at the sound of their voices.

  Her brothers seemed unfazed by her Englisch clothes. “You heard?” Elijah asked.

  “Yah.” Bridget wiped her palms on the thighs of her jeans. “Do you know—”

  The man twisted to face her. “Hello, Bridget.”

  She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Moses.” The boy who had courted her years ago. The boy she might have spent the rest of her life with if she hadn’t made a very bold move. “What are you doing here?” Her words came out harsher than she had intended.

  Moses gave her a familiar smug look and waited a beat before saying anything, as if he had information that he wasn’t quite yet willing to share. Only after she had left him and Hickory Lane did she recognize his behavior for what it was: his way of exerting control. “Nice to see you, too,” he finally said. He was still clean-shaven, which meant he hadn’t yet married. He was getting a bit long in the tooth. The same could be said of her if she had never left. In the Englisch world, however, she was still a baby. Too young to consider marriage. Many of her nursing friends were enjoying dating around. And until Zach, she hadn’t given a serious relationship much thought. Education had been her primary focus.

  “Do you know where my sister is?” A slow, steady ticking ratcheted up in her head. What is this really about?

  “Can’t say that I do.” Moses hopped to his feet and moved toward the barn door. He tipped his hat to Bridget on his way out.