by Emma Miller
“Hush, child,” Alma cautioned. “No need to tell her any of that now. It doesn’t matter.”
But Lemuel wouldn’t be silenced. “Rachel has to understand why you did it. She has to see that you had to get rid of Daniel.” He dropped on his knees beside her. “Daniel said my mother wouldn’t always be around to take up for her, and maybe the baby would just fall against the stove or tumble into the well. He said Mary Rose needed to make up her mind who was boss around here, him or an old woman.” Lemuel was weeping now. His nose was running, and he was blubbering but still babbling on. “Mary Rose knew he would kill the baby, but she thought she could change him.”
“He might have killed Eliza,” Alma said. “Daniel complained that she cried too much and she was just a runty girl. He said next time he’d get a son on Mary Rose, so what did it matter if a sickly girl baby had an accident. One less useless mouth to feed.”
“But why then? If all of this had been going on for some time?” Rachel murmured. “Why that day of the hunt?”
“Because he’d hurt Moses and Lemuel again. Because the gnawing in my belly was fierce that day,” Alma said in a rush. “Because Salome gave me something for the pain and we both knew that my time was growing short. And because I knew he’d be in that deer stand. And I had to do something before it was too late to save my children.”
Rachel blinked, finally realizing what Alma was saying. “You’re saying you did it?” Rachel said. “Not Lemuel or Mary Rose? And not Moses?”
“Ne. Mary Rose doesn’t even know I did it,” Alma said. “Nobody knew. Nobody would have ever known if Lemuel hadn’t come upon me, coming back through the woods that day.”
“I’m sorry, Mam,” Lemuel whispered, hanging his head.
Alma brushed her fingertips across her son’s face. “Wasn’t your fault. Couldn’t be helped. Just wish you hadn’t seen me. Hadn’t figured it out.”
Rachel’s mind was now reeling. Alma had shot and killed Daniel, then Lemuel had accidentally come upon his mother and figured out what happened? If not at that moment, then obviously later when he found Daniel’s body.
Rachel looked up from the floor at Alma. “You shot Daniel, not once but twice.”
“Had to,” Alma insisted. “No more than shooting a rat. Daniel was evil. Evil don’t die so easy. He should have died with the first shot, but he started screaming and crawling toward me. He said I’d go to hell. And I said he’d be there ahead of me and pulled the trigger again.”
“But you won’t go to hell,” Lemuel sobbed. “You’ll go down on your knees in front of the church and you’ll be forgiven.”
“Ne, that won’t happen,” Alma said. “It’s too late for all that, because I’ve still got bad things to do to make everything right.”
“What bad things, Mam?” Lemuel asked.
Rachel held her breath, holding Alma’s gaze.
The Amish woman looked away. “I’ve got to protect you. I’m sorry, Rachel. You seem like a good person, but I can’t take the chance that you’ll tell the police. You’ll tell them that Lemuel helped me hide what I did. He dropped his father’s gun down the old well. That makes him guilty, too. And they’d put him in jail like they did Moses.”
Rachel struggled against the ropes. “They won’t. It’s not the same thing,” she protested. “Lemuel didn’t kill anybody. He’s too young to be an accessory to the crime.”
“He hit you with the shovel, and he’s going to help me get rid of your body,” Alma said. “That makes him guilty.”
Fear made Rachel’s mouth dry. “Alma, please. You don’t have to kill me,” she begged. “I found a lawyer for Moses. I can convince her to defend Lemuel. So long as you don’t hurt me, they’d never put him in prison.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know about the places Englishers send their children. I may be uneducated, but I’m not stupid. Juvenile detention centers.” Those three words came out in English, rather than Deitsch. “We’ll give you a little while to make your peace with God. Pray for your soul and ask forgiveness for your sins. You’ll go to heaven when this business is all said and done, Rachel. Even though you left the Amish church, you’re a good person. God will understand.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Rachel managed, fighting tears. “Daniel was an evil man. You had to protect your children. But all I’ve tried to do was help your family. I shouldn’t die for it.”
Alma shook her head. “They’ll be looking for you. We don’t have much time to think of the best place to put your body. But giving you time to pray is the decent thing to do. Be at peace. This world is a place of sorrow and pain, and you’re better out of it.”
“Please,” Rachel begged. “Think of what this will do to Lemuel.”
“It’s Lemuel I’m thinking of,” Alma insisted, turning away. “Come, boy. We need to do some praying of our own.”
The two of them exited the barn and Rachel was left on the floor wondering why she’d ever left the warmth and safety of her own home.
Chapter 20
Lying there on the barn floor, Rachel refused to wallow in self-pity or sink into a stupor of paralyzing fear as she contemplated her own death. She knew she didn’t have much time. Lemuel would do whatever his mother asked of him, and Alma seemed beyond reason.
Frantically, Rachel struggled to free her hands tied in front of her, but the jute twine cut into her wrists. She didn’t want to die like this, but worse than the idea of dying was knowing that Evan would be waiting for her at the church. Everyone would stare at him and whisper behind their hands and pity him. They would believe that, as predicted by many, she’d stood him up at the altar.
It would break his heart.
She relaxed for a moment, trying to think. Think her way out of this; it was how she’d managed to get out of situations like this before. The pain in her head brought on waves of nausea, but she couldn’t let herself be sick. Think! she told herself. Only she couldn’t think clearly. The pain was awful, and she was so cold. All she wanted to do was to close her eyes and sleep. If she slept, though, she might never wake. Instead, she concentrated on the twine wrapped around her wrists, working at the knots with her teeth.
If she could get to her phone, she could call for help. But it seemed as if it was a long way away. She’d left her cell in the Jeep, as she always did when she was visiting an Amish home. Out of respect. She hadn’t wanted to disturb Alma’s house with a ringing telephone. And she would probably pay for that mistake with her life.
Alma.
Why had she never suspected Alma?
It all made sense now that she knew Alma was ill. Daniel and Mary Rose would have inherited the farm when Alma passed, but Daniel would have been in control. He would have had all the power. Who knows what he would have done to his infant daughter or to Lemuel?
If Rachel had known what was going on under Alma’s roof, she could have gone to the authorities. “God forgive me,” she prayed.
Part of this was her own fault. Vanity. She’d believed that she could learn the truth and free Moses. Now she might die for her stubborn insistence on interfering where she shouldn’t have. She didn’t fear death the way many Englishers did because she had faith there was a hereafter. But she didn’t want to die yet, not before she and Evan had a chance to marry, to make a life together. She wanted children and the opportunity to grow old with the man she loved. She had to think of a way to get out of this. There had to be some way to convince Alma to spare her, if only for Lemuel’s sake.
A surge of hope washed over Rachel as she managed to loosen the first knot at her wrists. Warm, sticky blood ran down her neck, coming from where, she wasn’t sure. Her head wound? Tied up this way, her shoulders ached and her feet were going numb. She tried to wiggle her toes and only succeeded in causing a cramp in her right calf.
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to hold back a sense of rising panic.
Her mind raced. Odd images rose, becoming vivid flashes of memory . . . the midwife’s hearth with
its crackling fire . . . a section of cordwood at the instant Moses’s ax split through it . . . Chuck’s tea mugs and his medal . . . and the red cardinal rising out of the snow in her father’s barnyard the day of Daniel’s funeral.
“Things are not always what they appear to be,” she murmured.
The midwife was no storybook witch. The strange man on the mountain with the barricades and knife was no murderer. The child’s lost mitten in the barnyard that day was a bird. And the mother was a murderer.
Rachel’s eyelids drifted shut and her head slumped as she lost consciousness to the image of dozens of red mittens swirling through the air like so many crimson snowflakes.
* * *
Sometime later a horse whinnied, and Rachel jerked awake. Sunlight from an open door temporarily blinded her vision. She gasped and blinked. Silhouetted against the doorway stood two figures, a woman and a thin boy. The woman had a rifle in her hands. The boy had a rope around his shoulder and was dragging something.
“It’s time,” Alma said, seeming unaffected by what she intended to do.
“Ne.” Rachel shook her head. “For the love of God, Alma, please. Don’t—”
“Don’t speak to me of God,” Alma interrupted. “I’m lost to Him.”
“You’re wrong,” Rachel protested. “God never abandons us. He’s here for us when we are at our weakest—when we need Him most.”
Lemuel was weeping again, but he dragged the object closer. A large old-fashioned sled built of wood slats on metal runners. “She’s trying to get loose, Mam,” he managed between hiccups. He’d been crying. His eyes were bright, his nose running. “But I tied it good, like you showed me.”
“Won’t matter.” Alma leaned down and jerked on the binding around Rachel’s wrists.
Rachel winced.
“God’s with you. You keep thinking that, Rachel,” the woman said as she helped the boy drag Rachel’s body onto the oversized sled. “I hope it gives you comfort.”
Lemuel straightened and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his homemade denim coat. “I don’t like this, Mam. It’s not right. I’ll go to the Englisher police. I’ll tell them I did it. I’ll tell them that I killed Daniel, and Moses will come home. He’ll take care of Mary Rose and the baby.”
“Hush, sohn. This is the only way,” his mother crooned. She slowly lifted Rachel’s legs, groaning in pain from the exertion. “That old well was a good place for your dat’s gun, and it will do just as well for her body. We should have thrown Daniel down there, and then we’d have none of this trouble.”
“Lemuel, please,” Rachel begged, trying to look up at the boy. “Don’t do this. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. It’s not too late to stop—”
“No more!” Alma leaned over, and her fingers tightened on Rachel’s forearm. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll take that shovel and finish you off with it now. You should be making your peace with your Maker instead of worrying my boy.” She stood upright, breathing heavily. “You’ll see, Lemuel,” she soothed. “This will be best for all of us. It will soon be over and done and you’ll all be safe. Now let’s get on with it. The sooner done, the better. And then we’ll go inside and have a nice supper.”
A sob escaped Lemuel’s lips, but he nodded obediently and grabbed the rope he’d used to bring the sled into the barn. The two of them tugged on the rope together and slowly dragged the sled out into the snowy farmyard.
Time had passed. Rachel could tell by the shift in the sun.
Panic seized her. “Help!” Rachel screamed as loud as she could. She rolled one way and then the other, trying to get off the sled. “Help me! Someone! Help!”
Alma dropped the rope and raised the rifle butt over Rachel’s head. “I told you to keep quiet,” she warned, her voice surprisingly free of rancor. The woman was resolved. She was going to do this. She really was going to kill Rachel.
Rachel stopped moving and clamped her eyes shut, half expecting to feel the wooden stock of the rifle crash into the back of her head. The sled jerked and then slid bumpily over the surface of the snow. She cautiously opened her eyes again as the sled passed the corner of the barn.
The snow had stopped and the temperature had dropped. The sun had come out from the clouds and the late-afternoon light glittered off the snow. It must be after three, Rachel thought. The minister and all the guests would have left the church. Her wedding had come and gone, and she hadn’t been there to see it.
She groaned as Alma and Lemuel pulled her through the snow, hitting bumps that sent pain knifing through Rachel’s head.
The rifle worried her. Did Alma plan to shoot her before throwing her down the well? It might be better than dying of exposure or drowning in a dark hole, but if they only dropped her in the well, she might have a chance. Evan would come looking for her. Surely he would. Wouldn’t he? Or would he believe she’d decided not to marry him and just taken a coward’s way out and not told him?
She didn’t want to believe that, but why else hadn’t he come for her? Hopefully Mary Aaron would know something was wrong. She must have realized she was missing when she went upstairs to help Rachel into her wedding gown. She’d figure out where Rachel had gone and come to the Studer farm.
If Rachel could just convince Alma to leave her alive, she might be able to survive until help came.
There was the sudden sound of splintering wood, the sled shifted, and Rachel slid hard into the cold snow. Her head struck the ground and she gave an involuntary cry of pain. White lights flashed in her head. She heard herself groan, as if she were a distance from her body, and feared she might pass out.
“It broke,” Lemuel exclaimed, sounding as if he were about to burst into tears. “Look, that runner’s bent under.”
Rachel lay in the snow, her back to them, unable to move. Afraid to move and bring attention to herself.
“What are we going to do?” Lemuel fretted. “Carry her the rest of the way? She’s too big for me to carry.”
“She can walk,” Alma said. “Untie her ankles.”
Lemuel hurried to obey.
“Lemuel, please,” Rachel whispered, peering up at him as he yanked on the twine.
“Leave him alone,” Alma snapped at Rachel. “Get up on your feet. You can walk. It’s not far.”
Rachel rolled on her stomach and made it to her knees before a wave of nausea washed over her. She hung her head. “I . . . I don’t know if I can.”
It took both Alma and Lemuel to pull Rachel to her feet. She was so dizzy that she could barely maintain her balance. I wish I could speak to my family one last time, she thought. I wish I could tell Evan how sorry I am and how much I love him.
They walked. She lifted her head to gaze out at the snow and she thought of making a run for it. Of shouldering Lemuel and charging past him . . . of running back to the barn and climbing into the hayloft or making it to the Jeep and driving down the lane. But wishes weren’t horses, as her mother had always said. Rachel didn’t have the strength or clear head to run. It took every ounce of her strength to put one foot in front of the other. If she tried to flee, she’d be as helpless as a blind kitten. Alma would shoot her, or Lemuel would run her down and knock her to the ground.
She closed her eyes and saw again the flash of red as the mitten turned into a cardinal and flew into the sky. She wished she were a redbird. She’d fly away. Alma let go of her and Rachel fell onto her knees in the snow. A few yards ahead of her, Lemuel began to kick the snow off a sheet of tin. It lay on top of a few rotting beams, just another pile of debris in a farmer’s field. If it snowed again tonight, no one might notice it for months or years . . . or ever.
Lemuel lifted another section of metal and Rachel caught a glimpse of mossy fieldstones that lined the inside of the well. She stiffened, thinking of the dank walls and the icy water at the bottom. “Alma, you can’t do this,” she murmured. “You’re condemning your son to—”
A loud metallic click sounded in the still air . . . the sound of Alma cock
ing the rifle. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Rachel,” she said. “But I have to protect my—”
The wail of a police siren drowned out her words. Rachel staggered to her feet. Hope lent her strength and she ran toward the barn. “Evan!” she screamed. “Evan!” Between the barn and the chicken house she heard the roar of the motor and saw the vehicle spin into the yard, lights flashing. A door banged open.
“She has a gun!” Rachel yelled. “Alma has a gun!”
Evan, dressed in his tuxedo, dashed around the barn, gun drawn. Rachel heard the crack of the rifle. Evan got off a shot, but the bullet missed its mark as Alma fired again. The air was filled with the echo of the shots and the smell of gunpowder.
It all seemed so surreal.
Rachel watched, everything seeming to move in slow motion, as Evan crumpled and fell forward. A red stain began to spread across the snow.
“Mam!” Lemuel cried.
Behind her, Rachel heard Alma slam another cartridge into the rifle.
Rachel ran toward Evan, screaming his name. Something whined past her head and she heard the sound of Alma’s rifle again. Rachel ducked and kept running. She had to get to Evan. Another bullet slammed into the ground beside her. She threw herself over Evan, wrapping her arms around him and trying to shield him from Alma. Evan groaned. “God help us,” she managed.
Suddenly, a pack of barking dogs swept down off the slope. A burst of gunfire rang out. “Drop it or the boy dies!” a male voice shouted.
“Don’t hurt him!” Alma screamed. “Not my Lemuel.” She threw the rifle aside and ran to her son.
“Hands in the air! Flat on the ground, both of you!” Chuck Baker shouted a command to his pit bulls and they closed in on a weeping Alma and the boy. Snarling viciously, the dogs crouched low, muscles tensed and teeth bared. “Don’t move or they’ll tear you apart,” the prepper warned. “If they get a taste of blood I won’t be able to call them off.”
Tears clouded Rachel’s eyes as Chuck snatched up Alma’s discarded rifle and strode toward them. He ejected a cartridge and hurled Alma’s gun to the ground as he came toward Rachel and Evan, his semiautomatic rifle tucked under his arm.
