Like a Bee to Honey

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  They’d been in the car for nearly a half an hour, and Rose had no idea where they were taking her. For the first ten minutes of the trip, Buddy and Jethro had yelled at each other because Buddy wanted to let Rose go and Jethro wouldn’t hear it. Buddy was probably about Jethro’s age, but he seemed younger, anxious and unsure about everything. He was beside himself, telling Jethro that they’d get arrested for kidnapping, while Jethro yelled at Buddy to shut up and drive the car. Buddy’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and over and over again, Jethro yelled at him to turn it off.

  “I can’t,” Buddy whined. “My mom gets really mad when I turn off my phone. She’ll take it away.”

  Jethro glanced out the back window, as if he was sure the police were right behind them. Then he closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.

  Rose pressed her lips together. Jethro’s hands shook, and beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. He was nervous. Nae, he was frightened. She furrowed her brow. At least as frightened as she was.

  How could that be?

  She studied his face and tried to remember the little boy she’d known thirteen years ago. Jethro’s sister Mary Beth and Rose had been seven years old, and Jethro had been two years younger. He hadn’t been one of those pesky little brothers who teased or pulled hair or called his sister names. He’d had a sweet, timid disposition and always asked very nicely if he could play house with them. Rose and Mary Beth would often call upon Jethro to kill spiders or get them drinks of water. He would happily do whatever they wanted just so he could be near them. When they played with their dolls, Jethro would make believe he was the fater with a stick for a hunting rifle. He liked to march around the barn and pretend to shoot wild animals that meant harm to the babies inside. Mary Beth had told Rose that their dat had a hunting rifle, and he sometimes took Jethro with him on the deer hunt.

  How his heart must have broken when his dat went to prison! No matter how cruel or abusive his dat had been, Jethro would have remembered the gute times and been devastated when his dat was ripped from the family.

  Guilt slammed into Rose and made her cry all the harder. If it hadn’t been for her, Jethro would have grown up with a fater.

  She clamped her eyes shut and heard Josiah’s voice in her head. He would not let her blame herself for La Wayne’s drinking or Martha’s choice to leave her husband. Because of Josiah, Rose had begun to see things differently. Maybe she wasn’t responsible for the broken arm or La Wayne’s uncontrollable temper or the broken family. Whatever part she had played, Josiah said Gotte had forgiven her. And maybe, just maybe, in a small way, she had helped save La Wayne’s children from suffering at the hand of one who was supposed to love them.

  She looked at Jethro again and saw that little boy, so sad, so wounded, unable to understand the consequences of his dat’s choices. Of course he would look for someone to blame. Of course Rose was a likely choice.

  Rose wiped the tears from her face. She couldn’t be brave like Poppy or clever like Lily, but she could be kind, like her mater had been. Maybe she didn’t want to be anyone else.

  Buddy turned off the highway onto a little country road that looked as if it led to a cornfield. The road curved sharply to the left, then to the right. After a few hundred feet, Buddy stopped the car. Rose couldn’t see much out the window, but she knew exactly where they were.

  Buddy picked up his phone. “We can’t stay here very long. My mom has called me like eight times. She’s already gonna be mad.”

  “All right,” Jethro growled. “Just give me a few minutes.” With a flashlight in one hand, he got out of the car and reached in to pull Rose out his side. He grabbed her wrist and yanked hard.

  “Please don’t pull me,” she said, in a voice of perfect calm. “I can walk. I want you to show me.”

  He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he let go of her hand and let her slide out of the car without touching her. “We’ll be back soon,” Jethro told Buddy, and Rose felt a small sense of relief.

  He’d said “we,” which meant that he probably didn’t mean to murder her and leave her body in the Amish cemetery. She said a silent prayer of thanks. Bitsy and her sisters would be very sad if she died. And maybe Josiah would too. Maybe he’d miss her quite a bit. She’d miss him more than words could express.

  Jethro clamped his fingers around Rose’s arm and pulled her up a gentle hill to a small gravestone in the middle of the cemetery. He yanked her to a stop and shoved her to kneel on the ground in front of it. “You killed him,” he said.

  A few weeks ago, Rose might have agreed with him, but she didn’t believe it anymore. Josiah was the best soul she had ever known, and he said she wasn’t responsible.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. Sorry for a confused little boy. Sorry for a terrified mater. Sorry for a fater who couldn’t control his temper or his addictions and left destruction in his wake.

  “He was in prison for three years. Three years and my mamm didn’t want to wait. As soon as the police took him away, she packed up our things and moved us out. She filed for divorce. She got herself excommunicated, all because you wanted revenge.”

  Did he really think a seven-year-old could comprehend revenge?

  Jethro paced back and forth behind Rose, his voice rising in agitation with every word. “When he got out of prison, Mamm wouldn’t take him back. I wanted my dat, and Mamm locked him out of the house. She filed a protective order against him. A protective order! Against her own husband.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all Rose could say.

  Jethro quit pacing and stationed himself to Rose’s right. He folded his arms and glared at her. “Mary Beth didn’t want our way of life. She’s going to college. My mamm doesn’t live Plain anymore either. I wanted to be Amish. Mamm couldn’t see that salvation comes only in living a Plain life. She’s going to hell. They’re all going to hell.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Dat returned to Wallsby after prison, but the community never really accepted him because Mamm had divorced him. They couldn’t understand that it was her fault. And yours. All yours, Rose Christner. The courts forced Mamm to let us visit Dat, but it wasn’t the same.”

  He knelt down next to her and yelled in her face. “You stole my dat from me. He and Mamm would still be together if you hadn’t testified. He would have stopped drinking. I know he would have.”

  Rose held her breath, expecting him to strike her or shove her or slap her face. He didn’t even touch her. She turned to face him, unable to hear anything else but her heart pounding in her ears. If Jethro wanted to punish someone for his dat’s death, could she muster the courage to offer herself?

  “You brought me here to see your fater’s grave, to make me feel sorry. I am sorry. Very sorry,” she said, sounding as weak as she felt.

  He stood up and kicked the grass at his feet. “You should be.”

  “If . . . if you think it will make things right, I want you to take your revenge out on me.” With trembling limbs, she stood, bowed her head, and laced her fingers together. “Strike me as many times as you think will make up for what you lost.”

  Her words seemed to shock him to the core. The lines on his face became hard and sharp, as if someone had slashed at him with a pocketknife. “Strike you? What are you saying?” He wrapped his arms around his head as if he were trying to protect his face. “You think I would hit you? You think I would hurt anyone like that and send myself to hell?” He paced back and forth as if he were in a cage and jabbed his finger in her direction. “I’m not like that, Rose Christner. I would never be like that.”

  Rose thought she might faint with relief. Did he really mean not to hurt her? She couldn’t see his face well by the flashlight on the ground, but maybe there was more of that sweet little boy left than she had imagined.

  She thought back to the fire behind the honey house. Aunt Bitsy had said whoever set the fire hadn’t wanted to actually burn down the honey house. Why hadn’t Jethro killed the chickens when he’d ch
opped up their chicken coop? Why had he merely cut off Queenie’s tail instead of permanently docking it? She glanced at the eight scratches from Leonard Nimoy on his forearm. After the kitten had attacked him, Jethro had placed her on the ground as gently as a mother cat would have done.

  Her heart started beating again for what felt like the first time in half an hour. Jethro Zook meant her no harm.

  Jethro meant her no harm.

  He wanted to scare her and make her sorry for what she’d done, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Deep down, he had a gute heart. A broken, confused, gute heart.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel frightened of him anymore, only profoundly sad for the little boy who had an image of a fater that had never been real—and for the fater who had wasted his life because he couldn’t see past a bottle of alcohol.

  She let the tears flow freely down her face. “Nae. I can see that you would never raise a hand to me. Or anyone.”

  “I am not . . . I am not . . .”

  “Like your fater,” she said.

  Jethro moaned like a wounded animal. “He didn’t know what he was doing. No one gave him a chance.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  His eyes filled with confusion, and she thought he might yank his hand from her grasp. Instead, he studied her face for a minute and then seemed to surrender whatever resistance he had left. Keeping his hand in hers, they sat down together in front of his fater’s gravestone, and wept.

  She held on tight and let him cry. Everyone needed a chance to grieve.

  Jethro pulled his hand away and clenched his fists. “He hit me, you know.”

  “Jah. I know.”

  “He hit all of us when he was drunk. But he could have changed if everyone had just given him a chance.”

  “Jethro,” she whispered. “Do you think your mater was trying to protect you and Mary Beth and your other siblings when she left him?”

  He lifted his chin and sniffed back the tears. “He would have changed. If she hadn’t left, he would have changed.”

  “But maybe your mamm couldn’t bear to see one more of her precious children be hurt. Maybe if it had been only her life she was choosing for, she might have stayed. But what if she didn’t think it was worth sacrificing her children to give your dat another chance? Would you have wanted to see him hit Mary Beth one more time?”

  He turned his head and stared off into the night. “Nae. But if he’d had another chance, he wouldn’t have gone to hell. I would have taken all the beatings in the world if it meant my dat didn’t go to hell.”

  “Jesus has already taken all the beatings so you don’t have to.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Aunt Bitsy was an Englischer for many years. She says that addictions are very hard to overcome. Jesus paid a high price for your dat’s soul. I don’t think He would cast off something so precious without a second thought. There is hope for your dat as there is hope for all sinners—through Jesus.”

  “At the hospital right before he died, he told me he was sorry for what he’d done, but the bishop says we don’t believe in deathbed repentance.”

  “I think Gotte is happy when the lost sheep come home, whether sooner or later,” Rose said. “Remember the parable of the laborers in Gotte’s vineyard? No matter how late in the day, all laborers will receive the same reward.”

  To her surprise, he laid his head on her shoulder like a child might do with his mother. “I am sorry, Rose. I have held so much anger in my heart for my dat and my mamm and even myself. I blamed you because it was easier to hate you than to hate my dat. It is wicked to hate your parents. When my dat died, I punished you and your beehives and your chicken coop. Poppy almost lost her hand.”

  She put her arm around him. “I forgive you, and I hope you will forgive me for the pain I’ve caused.”

  He laughed bitterly. “I hurt myself by holding on to my anger. I wish it hadn’t taken me thirteen years and a kidnapping to see it.”

  Rose patted him on the shoulder. “Who says it was a kidnapping?”

  Jethro lifted his head from her shoulder. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for scaring your sisters and your aendi.”

  “I forgive you, Jethro.”

  He furrowed his brow. “They are probably worried sick about you.” He stood and offered his hand. “We need to get you home.”

  “Those scratches look like they hurt. Maybe on the way we could find a bandage.”

  He glanced at his arm and frowned. “That is one brave kitten.” He helped her to her feet, and when he released her hand, Rose felt the ever-present fear leave her like a shawl falling from her shoulders. She gasped in surprise.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Josiah hadn’t stopped praying since he’d climbed into Ashley’s truck. Every word was from the deepest, most tortured part of his soul. Lord, let Rose be all right. Bring her home to us. Please don’t let them hurt her. Josiah’s own desires were the hardest thing to surrender, but if he wanted Gotte to hear him, he had to be willing to lose it all. Thy will be done.

  That thought just about choked him. What if it was Gotte’s will that Josiah lose Rose?

  He would never breathe again. Surely Gotte must know that.

  He was crammed in the backseat of Ashley’s truck with his head bowed and his arms propped on his knees, rocking back and forth in the small space because anxiety made it impossible for him to be still. If he didn’t keep moving, he would explode or disintegrate. He couldn’t let himself do either.

  Please, Heavenly Father, help us find her. I would be lost without my Rose.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead even though Ashley had the air conditioner turned up full blast. His heart crashed against his chest like violent waves on the beach, each beat more painful than the last.

  Ashley, Griff, and Dan sat in the front seat. Ashley drove too slowly, Griff talked on his phone, and Dan tried to decipher the map on Ashley’s phone. Since the Amish didn’t use cell phones, Dan wasn’t quite sure what to do to make the map bigger or make the voice louder or scroll down the page. Josiah couldn’t help him. He was as useless at phones as Dan was.

  “Lightly touch your finger on the screen and slide it up,” Ashley said, trying to give Dan instructions while keeping an eye on the road. “No, if you touch too hard it will take you to another screen.”

  To his credit, Dan didn’t give up. Rose needed them. He seemed determined to figure out the phone or die trying.

  “The map doesn’t really matter,” Ashley said. “I think we’re still going the right way.”

  “Go faster, Ashley,” Griff said, half listening on his phone.

  “I can’t. If I get another ticket, I’ll lose my license.”

  Josiah nearly growled in frustration, even though he knew how ungrateful he was being. If it weren’t for Ashley, he would be sitting at home going insane with worry. Right now, Ashley was the answer to many prayers.

  “How are you doing back there, Joe?” Ashley said.

  Josiah raised his head and made eye contact with Dan. Dan’s lips were drawn together in a tense frown, and he looked as pale as a snowstorm. “We’re going to find her. They’re not far ahead of us.”

  Josiah couldn’t manage any kind of a reply. Dan was trying to help him feel better, but it was an impossible task. The only thing that would make him feel better was when they found that car with Rose unharmed inside.

  Griff lowered the phone from his mouth. “She says go south on 110.”

  “I thought you said north,” Ashley said. “Dan, what does the map say?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan said, staring at the phone in complete confusion.

  Griff listened to the person on the other end of the phone. “She says go south. Toward Marion.”

  Ashley turned left onto a small town road. They drove a few blocks before the houses thinned out and gave way to rolling farmland.

  “Three more miles,” Griff said.

  “On this road?”

  G
riff’s lips drooped into a sullen frown. “She just says three miles. Everybody’s talking at me at once.”

  Ashley patted Griff’s leg. “You’re doing great with the navigation.”

  Griff seemed to perk up. “Thanks. It’s hard over the phone.” It sounded like someone on the other end was screaming with excitement. “What?” Griff said. “I can’t understand you.” He held perfectly still and listened carefully. “Okay. I’ll tell them.” He pulled the phone from his ear. “She knows where they went. There’s an Amish cemetery. Turn right! Turn right!” he yelled.

  It didn’t even feel like Ashley hit the brakes. She took the turn and her tires squealed as if they were being murdered. Even though he was buckled in, Josiah was tossed around like a pebble in the river.

  When he righted himself, he trained his gaze out the window.

  His heart stopped altogether. Up ahead, an old brown car with a rusted bumper was parked along the side of the road. “There it is!”

  Ashley drove right up behind the car and slammed on her brakes. Dan and Griff jumped out of the truck, and Josiah practically leaped over the seat in an attempt to get out. Even being the last out of the truck, he was the first to the car. Dan handed him a flashlight, and he shone it in the window. Someone sat in the driver’s seat, but it didn’t look as if anyone else was in the car.

  Josiah wrenched open the front door. A boy, probably just old enough to drive, sat in the driver’s seat with his eyes closed and a pair of saucer-sized earphones clamped to his head. Josiah grabbed the boy’s T-shirt sleeve and yanked hard.

  The boy’s eyes flew open, and he ripped the earphones from his head. His eyes widened in alarm as he took a good look at Josiah’s face. “Whoa, man,” he said, raising his hands and pressing his back against his seat. “Whoa, don’t hurt me.”

  “Where is she?” Josiah growled. When the boy didn’t immediately answer, he pulled harder on his T-shirt.

  “I told him not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Josiah was so angry and so terrified, he thought he might burst into flames. “Where is Rose?”