The Hope of Refuge

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Ada went to the washbowl and scrubbed her hands. “I told Israel we’ve been at your house baking biscuits and cinnamon buns since two a.m. You know what he had the nerve to say?”

  Deborah shook her head.

  “That we’d better make more because he could eat all of that by himself before noon.”

  Deborah chuckled. “He won’t have a hole in his stomach after all that, but he sure will in his pocket.”

  Jonathan rounded the corner with a tray of cooked sausages. He set them next to the warming tray and began moving them into it. “I know we have all the fixings for different kinds of sausage biscuits, but do you know how to make a sausage roll?”

  Deborah shrugged. “Not sure that I do.”

  “You push it.”

  Laughing, she glanced to Mahlon, who didn’t react at all. He had seemed so unsettled the last few days. Then again, their week had been packed with ups and downs since Ephraim gave his blessing on their wedding plans three days ago. He could just be tired.

  She placed a sausage-and-egg biscuit in a wrapper and then tore off another piece of plastic wrap. “We need to assemble and wrap as many different kinds of meat-and-egg biscuits as we can. They sell the fastest.”

  Jonathan lifted the now-empty container. “You want the fresh vat of scrambled eggs?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll bring it quicklike, but I’m not turning it over to you until I get some of your best brewed coffee.” He tipped his hat and bowed, a broad smile saying he was teasing.

  Deborah grabbed the coffee grinder, added fresh beans, and turned the crank. “You bring me the eggs, and I’ll make the exchange.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He disappeared.

  Mahlon touched her shoulder. “I’ll check on you in a few hours. I need to go.”

  The few seconds that passed between them as she looked in his eyes assured her that, despite whatever weighed on him, he adored her. “Maybe tomorrow we can go for a long, quiet ride—just the two of us.”

  “Doubtful with Becca gone and you running the household, but I sure will love it if we can.”

  She continued getting the place ready for the first customers—unloading paper plates and napkins into their bins, filling the salt and pepper shakers and condiment bottles.

  “It’s about to get wild, Deborah.” Jonathan came around the corner with the huge container of steaming scrambled eggs. He nodded at the crowds parking their vehicles in the mowed fields. They’d soon form a line for Deborah and Ada’s breakfast food, one that wouldn’t end until nearly lunchtime.

  Cara and Lori followed the horse-and-buggy line heading for the auction. Thankfully they weren’t the only ones walking, so they didn’t stick out… too much. None of the women had on jeans. She seemed to be in the land of dresses and skirts and hair long enough to be pulled back. There didn’t seem to be much point in that. If they were going to pull their hair back all the time, why not just cut it off?

  After walking half a mile, she saw cars parked in a field on one side of the road. Buggies sat in a different field with a fenced pasture holding the unharnessed horses. Several portable potties and sinks were set up, clearly brought in for the occasion. Up ahead she spotted a huge farmhouse near the road. Half a block away sat what appeared to be an industrial-size warehouse.

  “Smell that food, Mom?”

  The aroma filled the air, making her mouth water. Even more appealing than the delectable smell of food was the aroma of coffee—a heavenly scent. But unless she found a bit of money buried inside Lori’s book bag, they’d have to be content with the stale half bagel and creek water they’d had for breakfast. “Maybe we can get something later. We just ate. We’re fine for now.”

  The sky began to release some of its threatening downpour. She and Lori hurried to the nearest tent, huddling under it with a lot of others aiming to keep dry. She studied the lay of the land. At the back of the property, some two or three city blocks away and almost hidden behind rows of bushes and trees, sat another building—perhaps someone’s home, but she couldn’t tell. If it was a house, it was probably the one Simeon had told them belonged to his brother. It looked like there was a shortcut back to the barn if she went through the field and past the building behind the trees. When she left here, she’d try going that way.

  From inside the warehouse came the sound of a man’s quick words as he auctioned an item. With a gentle tug she led Lori into the oversize structure. It seemed to be divided into stations. A man selling potted plants stood in the first section. Next was another makeshift kitchen area with benches and tables near it. Cara guessed lunch would be sold there later.

  A huge wagon full of miscellaneous stuff sat in the middle of the building with people surrounding it. Two men dressed exactly like Simeon and his brother—navy blue pants; a solid-color, collared shirt; suspenders; and a straw hat—stood on the wagon. The auctioneer bent down and grabbed something beside him. “Who’ll bid on this?” Frowning, he held up an old cardboard box of items. “What is this, anyway?”

  Those around the wagon tittered with laughter. The auctioneer’s helper shrugged, took it from him, and passed him a large hand-painted watering pot. “Ah, something I can sell. It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. This would go great with some of the potted plants being sold in station one.”

  Lori’s eyes grew wide. “It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow?”

  Cara nodded.

  Lori’s eyes filled with tears. “But… but I was making something for you at school.”

  She knelt beside her daughter. “I have you. If all mothers had a daughter like you, there wouldn’t be a need for such a thing as Mother’s Day.”

  The hurt in Lori’s eyes faded. “Really?”

  Cara swiped her finger over her heart, making a crisscross. “I promise.”

  “I painted you a picture.”

  “I bet it’s so gorgeous it’d brighten up the saddest mom’s heart. I think the teacher will give it to Sherry’s mom. If anybody deserves a gift because their kid isn’t one, it’d be her.” Cara didn’t know the woman, but she’d seen how her daughter behaved at school and sassed the teacher over every little thing.

  Lori smiled and wrapped her arms around her neck and held on. Cara lifted her as she snuggled against her shoulder.

  “Mom, I want to go home.”

  “I know, kiddo.” Cara walked past the crowds to the back of the building. Rows of various types of lawn chairs were lined up facing a wall of racks filled with quilts. A table near the racks had a sign that read “Quilt Sale Starts at Noon.”

  She moved to an empty chair and rocked her daughter. There’d been too many quick changes this week, along with too much walking and too little food. She stroked her daughter’s wavy hair, soothing her until she completely relaxed. Lori’s back rested against Cara’s chest, and she quietly watched people.

  The rain fell harder, but under the roof of the building, the auctioneers kept calling for bids. No one seemed to notice Cara. Amish women with clipboards and pens looked at tags on the quilts and made notes. They moved a few quilts from one area to another, speaking in a language Cara didn’t understand. She closed her eyes and dozed, odd images floating in and out of her mind. A kitchen table spread with fresh food. A warm embrace from a woman her mother called Levina. Two trees side by side. She climbed one, and some boy climbed the other. He called to her as she straddled a thick branch as if it were a horse and pretended to ride far, far away.

  Her mother’s laughter filled her. “Levina, ich bin kumme….”

  Cara jerked awake. An Amish woman stood near her, speaking to another Amish woman. The language… Wasn’t it the same her mother had spoken to… to… What was the woman’s name, the one she’d just dreamed of?

  She couldn’t remember, but she needed to know some things about her childhood. It shouldn’t matter—not at twenty-eight years old. But it did. And she didn’t intend to leave Dry Lake until she had some explanations. When she worked out a few things and was abl
e to answer where she and her daughter lived, if anyone asked her, she’d begin searching for information.

  Simeon’s brother stood near the front of the room. Thankfully he hadn’t spotted her. The desire to leave nudged her, but outside the rain poured. She and Lori would be soaked by the time they returned to the barn or found fresh shelter. Then they’d be stuck in wet clothes all through the day and night.

  An auctioneer moved to the desk near the quilts. “We’re waiting on the runners to get back with fresh pages, and then we’ll begin.”

  She decided it’d be best to let Lori remain on her lap and hope Simeon’s brother didn’t notice her. Even if he did, it was a community auction. She had as much right to be here as any other non-Amish person.

  The aroma of grilled chicken filled the air. Her stomach rumbled. She’d never seen so much home-cooked food in one place. She searched through Lori’s backpack and came up with a dime.

  Great. Now we have forty-two cents. Not enough to buy Lori anything.

  Women attached one end of a quilt to a long dowel that was connected to ropes and a pulley. Simeon’s brother hoisted the quilt up high so everyone could see what they were bidding on. When that quilt sold, he lowered it and moved to the other side, where several women had another quilt attached to a second dowel and pulley.

  He helped the women regardless of their age, looks, or weight, smiling as he shared a few words with each of them. He hurried from raising one quilt to the next so they never had to hoist the heavy blankets themselves. She’d never seen a man act so protective over something as non-threatening as a little heavy work.

  The selling of quilts went on for hours. Lori moved to a chair beside Cara and sang softly and flipped through a children’s magazine from her backpack, wiling away time the way tired children did. The rain slowed. Cara hoped the storm would be gone before much longer.

  The auctioneer told bits of history about some of the quilts, his voice coming through the battery-operated mike clipped to his shirt. “Emma Riehl began this next quilt twenty years ago.”

  Emma Riehl?

  The man’s voice turned to garbled nonsense as the name Emma Riehl echoed throughout Cara.

  Suddenly she was in the bus station again, walking through the long passageways, her father holding her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not we, just you.”

  “You’re gonna leave me here?”

  “No. I’ll stay until Emma Riehl arrives. She’ll be here soon.”

  Lori tapped her on the arm. “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  Cara’s thoughts didn’t slow, but she came to herself to realize afresh the delicious smells that permeated every breath they took. “I know, Lorabean. But all we have left is forty-two cents. That’s not enough to buy anything. I’m sorry.”

  When Lori nodded and wiped unspilled tears from her eyes, Cara thought her heart might break.

  “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  Cara eyed the Amish women, wondering if one of them was Emma. “Can you wait?”

  “No.”

  “You sure? I just need a few more—”

  “I gotta go now.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Cara weaved through the crowd, holding Lori’s hand. She looked for the nearest Porta Potti, then they stood in line, waiting.

  Emma Riehl? The oddity of this coincidence combined with that man calling her by her mother’s name convinced her that, whatever it took, she’d not leave this area until she had some answers.

  After their turn in a rest room, they washed their hands at the portable sinks and headed back to the quilt sale.

  As they passed a tent with food, Lori tugged on Cara’s hand. “Mom, please. Can we buy half of something with that money?”

  An Amish woman behind a register looked at them.

  “I still have a bagel in the backpack.”

  Lori stared up at her. “I’m hungry for real food, Mom.”

  Cara bent over and whispered, “I told you. We don’t have enough money.”

  Lori nodded.

  “Wait,” a voice called.

  Cara turned to see a young Amish woman holding a plate out to her.

  “Deborah?” A man called.

  “Ya?” the woman answered.

  “Where’s the aluminum foil?”

  “In the box under the register.” Deborah extended the plate closer to them. “The rain is keeping our numbers for the auction a little low this year. Is there any chance you could help me out by eating some of the leftover food?”

  Lori squealed. “Please, Mom? Please?”

  The plate held two huge biscuits loaded with steaming scrambled eggs and sausage. “The eggs and meat are hot off the grill.” She smiled, leaving Cara no doubt that she knew Lori had been asking for food.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes!” Lori did a little jig.

  The young woman chuckled. “I think she likes the idea. Come. You can choose a drink to go with it. We have white milk, chocolate milk, orange juice—”

  “Orange juice? I love orange juice!” Lori’s whole face glowed.

  Cara’s eyes misted. “Thank you.”

  Deborah nodded. “Come this way.” She poured Lori a glass of juice. She held a foam cup out to Cara. “Coffee?”

  Cara pulled out what little change she had in her pocket and handed it to Deborah. “Yes, please.” She elongated the last word, making the woman laugh.

  Deborah hesitated. Then she took the money.

  Cara carefully balanced the plate of food and cup of coffee. “Can you carry your drink without spilling it?”

  Lori nodded, thanking the woman half a dozen times.

  Cara chuckled. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem.”

  They made their way back to Cara’s chair in the auction building. Unlike when they’d left, several chairs were empty now, as were the quilt racks.

  “We got hot, delicious food, so this is a pretty good day, huh, Mom?”

  Wishing she could promise tomorrow would also be like this, Cara nodded. “Yes, it is.” But Emma Riehl’s quilt had been purchased, and any chance she had to spot which Amish woman might be Emma was gone with it.

  While they ate and drank, the auctioneer unfolded a letter-size piece of paper. “This is a contract from a woman who is willing to clean someone’s house one day a week for three months. Who’ll start the bidding?”

  When there was no response, a burly man held up a business card and hollered, “I’m willing to bid for an Amish woman to clean house, cook, and help take care of my wife five days a week until she’s on her feet again. Any takers?”

  There was a lot of murmuring and jokes, but no one volunteered.

  When the burly man stood, it was clear he wasn’t Amish. “We could probably get by on someone coming only four hours a day. We’d pay forty dollars each time. Surely there’s someone.”

  Two women behind Cara agreed the pay wasn’t bad but said they couldn’t find that kind of time to take on another job. She desperately wanted to raise her hand, but if she stood, the auctioneer would ask for her name and where she lived. Every employer wanted an address, and the closeness of this community meant they’d know if she lied. Just from spending the afternoon watching, she had decided that everyone here knew each other. If she could talk to this man alone, she might get away with a lie.

  Okay I’ll raise my offer. Four hours a day at fifty dollars. I’ll pay in cash at the end of each workday.” The man searched the room. “Come on. I’m like the rest of you, barely eking out a living, and that’s good money.”

  No one raised a hand. Cara began to wonder if there were hidden reasons no one volunteered.

  He tossed his business card on a nearby table. “If anyone changes their mind, that has my phone number and address.”

  Cara stared at the card, longing to snatch it up. All she needed was one break. If she could get on her feet without going outside the law, she could apply to the government for help—if she still ne
eded it. And stop living in fear of losing Lori.

  She felt someone watching her. Turning, she saw Simeon’s brother staring at her. Her nerves shot pinpricks of heat through her. She’d bet he wanted to question her, and she knew without being told that he had the power to ruin her fresh start. Clearly she had to get out of here.

  “Let’s go.” Cara slid the strap to Lori’s backpack over her shoulder and gathered their trash.

  “I still got half a cup of juice left. Isn’t that cool?”

  “Yeah, now come on.” But Cara was the one who didn’t budge. The man’s card lay on the table, begging for her to grab it.

  An image floated through her mind again.

  Her father tapped the hand-drawn map. “See where I’ve drawn this horse and buggy? That’s where you’re going It’s where your mother never should have left. It did things to her… to us.”

  “I’m going to Levina’s?”

  Her father stared hard at her before he emptied the glass of its golden drink. “You know about her?”

  “I met her.”

  He ordered another drink and then another before he stood and led her to a bench seat elsewhere in the station. “Stay put, Cara Atwater, right here, and don’t you budge. Emma will come get you.”

  Cara closed her eyes, trying to ward off the pain of being abandoned. Twice. Her father had left. And Emma Riehl never showed.

  “You okay Mom?”

  She opened her eyes and forced another smile. “Sure, Lorabean.” When she looked up, she met Simeon’s brothers eyes. Defiance welled, and she held his gaze. She wasn’t leaving, not yet. The man could just choke on his stinginess over his moldy hay and half-fallen barn, but she wasn’t running.

  Hiding? Yes. Running? Not yet. Not until she had answers.

  Simeon hurried up to him, talking and stealing his attention.

  The crowds pressed in around the table where the card lay. “Stay close and keep quiet.” Cara eased from her chair and melted into the crowd. She reached through the gaps between people and grabbed the card. No one seemed to feel her arms moving past theirs. “Let’s go.”