by Debby Giusti
“Even if Davey knew the phone number, he wouldn’t give it to his brother or to any of the gang members.”
Abraham’s shoulders sagged with frustration, as if, at that moment, he realized William truly did not comprehend the danger he was in.
No one should feel hunted or preyed upon. Especially not a fourteen-year-old boy who did not understand the full meaning of gang warfare and retaliation.
“No more phone calls, William. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Gut.” Abraham hesitated a moment before adding, “I expect you to wear Amish clothing. After you finish mucking the stall, go inside and change your clothes.”
He turned and walked toward the open barn door with determined steps, nearly bumping into Julia who hovered in the shadows just inside the entrance.
She put her finger to his lips, motioned him outside and stopped when they were halfway to the house. “I overheard you talking to William. Did he call David?”
“He did.” Abraham pointed to the shack at the edge of his neighbor’s property. “On Harvey Raber’s phone.”
“You’re pointing to the little house by the road?” she asked.
Abraham nodded. “The phone shack. Harvey uses the phone for business and emergency needs. He allows his neighbors to make calls, too.”
“I apologize for William’s actions. He has changed over the last year or so. Age has a lot to do with it, but so does where we lived. Now the people he wanted to associate with in the city are after him.”
“Yet he does not understand the danger, Julia.”
Which was exactly what she had been thinking.
“It is the problem with youth,” Abraham continued. “Especially Englisch youth. They live in the moment and act irrationally. Someone hurts a kid on the street and they strike back, then they get their friends to strike back. That only escalates the unrest and violence.”
“And mushrooms into gang warfare in the inner city.” She knew it all too well.
“I saw it when I was a cop. Boys grow up without fathers and without good role models who provide sound advice and guidance. Children—most especially boys—need a strong male presence in their lives so they can understand what it means to be a man.”
“I agree, but some fathers are not good role models. William’s father is in jail. That’s hard for a kid to overcome.”
Abraham nodded. “Yet I can see that you have tried to be what he was not. William is at a difficult time of life and questioning everything. I did the same at his age.”
“I’m sure you weren’t attracted to gangs and violence.”
“Only because I had a faith that served as a moral compass. Plus, the people I knew—my father and uncles and other leaders in my community—were strong men. I wanted to work for good and not evil and knew this, even though I longed to experience life outside the Amish community.”
“What made you want to leave?”
He shrugged. “I was looking at the world through teenage eyes and did not see the big picture, as the saying goes. A young Amish boy had been kidnapped. The parents listened to the bishop who did not believe the Englisch authorities needed to be notified.”
“And the child?”
“Was never found. Growing up, I always wondered what would have happened if law enforcement had been called in to investigate. I wanted to be the man who saved that little boy.”
Julia touched his arm. “Jonathan told me about your wife and daughter. I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes Jonathan talks too much.”
He started to walk away, but she tugged on his arm. “Don’t be upset. Jonathan knew I would understand a portion of your pain. He said a paroled criminal came after you and killed your family. That’s my fear. I can never stop thinking about William, knowing he could end up dead. Kayla, too. I don’t know how you survived.”
“The truth is that I wanted to die, but God did not grant me that desire. Instead He sent Jonathan to help me heal.”
“Perhaps God knew my children and I would need you.”
Abraham tilted his head, as if pondering what she had said, and stared down at her for a long moment. The intensity of his gaze filled her with sorrow at the depth of pain he carried.
Then, with a jerk of his head, he glanced back at the barn. “William will finish cleaning one of the stalls soon. I noticed the schoolbooks you brought from Philadelphia. If you have work for him to do, it must wait until after we go to town. The sole on one of his shoes has ripped apart. He needs work boots to protect his feet.”
“Town?”
“Yoder. It is not far. Kayla needs new shoes, and so do you.”
Julia glanced down at her flats. “I have shoes.”
“Those will not last long on a farm. As Sarah mentioned, you and Kayla also need kapps.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yah, I am sure. When we come home, I will prepare the evening meal and will ring the dinner bell at six o’clock. This will give you enough time for the schoolwork.”
“It will. Thank you. Tomorrow I will cook.”
“We will wait until tomorrow to decide on the day’s meals. A lot can happen in the next few hours.”
He turned and walked to the paddock, leaving her to ponder his words, which hopefully were not prophetic. William and Kayla were safe on this Amish farm, at least for now.
She could breathe easy, although Julia was still concerned about her children’s well-being. The Philadores were a vile gang that would stop at nothing to get her son.
Keep William safe, she prayed, knowing God wouldn’t be listening. He had other people He loved more and who were more important to Him.
Julia was a woman who had made too many mistakes. Her own father had called her a mistake, and she’d never been able to shed the label.
She had a lot to learn about faith and putting her trust in God. She watched as Abraham harnessed one of the horses. She needed to trust God and Abraham. If only she could.
* * *
Kayla tugged at Abraham’s heart. Her blue eyes and sweet smile brought back memories of Becca. His daughter had been only four years old, but she had wrapped Abraham around her little finger. Like his daughter, Kayla was bubbly and energetic, and the opposite of William, who slumped into periods of moodiness. The boy needed to learn the benefits of hard work. He would forget about what he had left behind when he started to feel proud of what he was able to accomplish on the farm.
“Sit next to your sister,” Abraham instructed as the boy climbed into the buggy dressed in the Amish shirt and trousers Sarah had gotten from a neighbor. “You need a hat, William.”
“A kapp?”
“Kapps are for the ladies. You need a felt hat. Once warm weather arrives, the men switch from felt to straw hats.”
“I don’t want a hat.”
“Yah?”
The boy nodded. “Yah.”
William’s tone was emphatic and sarcastic. Abraham ignored the disrespect. A headstrong horse was hard to break. A boy could be the same. Abraham would be patient and consistent in both discipline and praise.
He glanced at the dawdy house. What was keeping Julia?
The door opened and she stepped onto the porch. As she neared, he noticed a hint of excitement in her eyes. Unlike the boy, Julia and her daughter seemed more eager to embrace the Amish way.
He took her hand and helped her into the buggy.
“Sit in front next to me,” he suggested.
“Thank you.” She lowered her gaze and adjusted her skirt. “I’ve never ridden in a buggy before.”
“You will find it enjoyable, I hope.”
“What’s the horse’s name?” Kayla asked from the rear.
“Buttercup.”
“Mama said my daddy called me Butterbean.”
Julia sighed ever so slightly.
“Your father loved you, I am sure,” Abraham said, hoping to assuage the child’s need for acceptance and affirmation.
“Sometimes I have trouble remembering him.” Her tone was grown-up and matter-of-fact, yet she was never without the doll her father had given her clasped tightly in her arms.
Abraham glanced at Julia. From the struggle he saw in her eyes, he wondered again about the husband. Both Jonathan and Julia had mentioned he was serving time. Hard for kids to know their father was in jail.
“What should we expect in town?” Julia asked as Abraham flicked the reins and turned the mare onto the main road. Buttercup’s hooves pounded over the pavement.
“Remember your new last name in Stolz,” he said. “I do not think people will ask, but you are my sister Susan’s friend. She knew I needed help with my house.”
“Why do we have to make up a story?” Kayla asked.
“Because the Philadores want to hurt me,” William mumbled.
“You never should have gone outside the night of the street fight.”
“Be quiet, Kayla.”
“Children!” Julia turned, her finger raised. “We will not say anything unless it is something positive about the other. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mama,” Kayla replied.
“Whatever,” William groaned.
Julia turned back to the road. “What if people ask me about being Amish?”
“You can say you are deciding whether to join the faith.”
“I don’t speak German, Abraham. You said a few things to Sarah I couldn’t understand.”
“The dialect is Pennsylvania Dutch. You will be fine speaking English. Just say you are studying to become Amish if anyone quizzes you.”
“William doesn’t like quizzes,” Kayla tattled.
“I do, too.”
“Not when you don’t know the answers.”
Julia raised her hand again. The children quieted.
“I’m sorry, Abraham, about their outbursts.”
He smiled. “My sister and I were the same.”
“I’ve heard the Amish practice shunning when they leave the faith. Is that what happened to you?”
“I was not baptized, so I was not actually shunned. Although my datt, my father, refused to speak to me after I left home.”
“I’m sure he was overjoyed when you returned to your faith.”
“He died the year before I returned to be baptized.”
“I’m sorry.”
So was Abraham. He glanced back to ensure the road behind them was clear. “We’ll stop at a store on the outskirts of town.”
“The one Sarah mentioned?”
“Yah. It is just ahead.”
He guided Buttercup around a bend in the road and into the store’s parking area. After tethering the horse to the hitching rail, he lifted Kayla from the buggy. Julia climbed down after William. Her foot slipped. Abraham wrapped his arms around her waist and guided her to the ground.
“You must be careful,” he cautioned.
“I tripped on my skirt. Jeans would be less of a problem.”
“You are right.” He motioned them toward the door.
The clerk, a young Amish woman, approached as they entered. “May I help you find something?”
“I need a kapp.” Julia pointed to Kayla. “And so does my daughter.”
“What size do you wear?”
Julia looked quizzically at Abraham who shrugged.
“I came from another area,” Julia said, covering her confusion. “Our sizes were different. Not too small. Not too large.”
“You can see them in the back. There is a mirror.” The clerk pointed Julia to the small dressing room. Kayla skipped behind them.
“We must find a hat for you.” Abraham put his hand on William’s slender shoulder. The boy balked, but Abraham ushered him toward the far side of the store where the men’s hats hung on the wall.
The scowl on William’s face lifted after he checked the price tag on one of the hats. Money talked in the gang world, and whether the boy equated the expensive hat with status in the Amish world, Abraham would never know, but William’s negative attitude softened somewhat.
After trying on a number of wide-brimmed, felt hats, they decided on one that fit. “It suits you well,” Abraham said once they made the selection.
The door to the dressing room opened and Kayla came out smiling. The white starched kapp covered her bun. “Mamm says I look lovely.”
“Mamm?” Kayla had used the Amish word for mom or mama.
“Yah.” She dipped her head and smiled, as if proud of the newly acquired word she had evidently picked up from the clerk.
“There is a flea market in town next week,” the woman said to Julia as they joined Abraham and William. “It is a nice day for families.”
The clerk glanced at Abraham. “You are going, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. How much do I owe you?” He paid with cash and hurried Julia and the children outside.
A siren sounded and lights flashed. The sheriff had pulled a red sports car to the side of the road. A tall, slender teen with tattoos and piercings glanced at them. His gaze lingered on Julia. A second, equally tatted kid stared through the passenger window.
A buggy, driven by an older Amish man, turned into the lot and parked next to Abraham’s rig. “Trouble has come to Yoder,” the elderly man grumbled.
“What happened?” Abraham asked.
“The driver was speeding through town, but the sheriff will set him straight, yah? Samuel Hershberger’s buggy was run off the road last week when a red sports car cut him off. My guess it is the same car. Why do the Englisch not let us live in peace?”
Abraham had often wondered the same thing.
He helped Julia into the buggy.
“We should go home,” she said, her face tight with worry.
“After we buy shoes.”
As the buggy passed the stopped car, Abraham made a mental note of the license plate.
“Did you see an P monogramed on the baseball hat the guy in the car was wearing?” Julia bit her lip and glanced back, her eyes wide. “He could have been a Philador. They sometimes tattoo an P on their hands.”
“The car has a Kansas plate, Julia. They are local punks. Do not worry.”
Philadelphia was over a thousand miles away, and the Philadores had yet to set up a presence in this part of the country. Still, Fuentes could have expanded his reach. While Abraham wanted to soothe Julia’s concerns, he would keep watch for the sports car and the two teens. Better safe than sorry, especially when a woman and her two children were in danger.
FIVE
Julia wanted to go back to the farm. The men who’d been stopped by the sheriff had unsettled her. Plus, she didn’t want to pretend to be Amish and have to fend off questions like the ones the clerk at the store had asked about where she was from and how she knew Abraham. She hoped her responses had been general enough to not raise the clerk’s suspicions.
But she worried about the next person who questioned her. Surely she would say something wrong that would give away their identities. If she didn’t, her children would.
How could the marshals think this was a good way to keep them safe? Instead of feeling protected, Julia felt exposed and vulnerable.
“The shoes can wait until another day,” she said to Abraham.
“We are already in town. There is no reason to turn back now.”
Once again, she glanced around the side of the buggy and stared at the flashing lights on the sheriff’s sedan. “Does the sheriff know you work for the marshals?”
“I do not work for them, Julia. Jonathan is a friend who asked if I could help. No one here knows about either of us being involved with witness protection, so it is n
ot something we should discuss.”
“I wasn’t discussing it, I was merely asking a question.” Frustration bubbled up. Did Abraham not realize how dangerous it was to be riding through town in a buggy? Surely everyone would stare at them.
But when Julia looked at the people milling around on the street, they seemed oblivious to her and her children. Perhaps because many of the other people were dressed in Amish clothing, and everywhere she looked, she saw buggies. Some driven by women, most driven by men. Children sat perched in the rear and stared at the passing cars.
The scene was as foreign to her as living in the inner city had been when she and the children had first moved there. Maybe more so.
She wrung her hands and tried to calm her unease by reading the signs that hung above the shops—The Tack Shop, Eicher’s Feed, Yoder Gazette.
Abraham seemed oblivious to her concerns.
“Where’s the shoe store?” she finally asked.
“On the next block.”
She stretched to see into the distance. “I only see a hardware store and restaurant.”
“The hardware store sells shoes, Julia.”
“Only in Yoder, right?”
He looked at her and smiled. “You will get used to the local ways.”
Abraham parked the buggy in the rear of the store and pointed them through a side door. The expansive interior was paneled in knotty pine and lit with bright fluorescent lighting.
The clerk nodded a greeting. “Morning, Abraham.”
“Silas.” Abraham motioned the children and Julia forward. “We are in need of shoes for these children and their mother.”
“I will measure their feet.”
Once the measurements were taken, Silas brought out boxes of shoes. William’s eyes brightened when he spied a pair of work books. “They look like Doc Martens.”
“Only they will hold up better,” the clerk assured him.
Kayla tried on a pair of leather shoes with laces. “They fit, Mamm.”
Julia leaned closer. “Did your last shoes not fit?”
“They pinched my toes, but I didn’t want to tell you.”
Seven years old, yet sensitive beyond her age.
