by Sicily Yoder
Amish Snowflakes: Volume Three:
Saved by a Convoy
By Sicily Yoder
***Note from Ms. Yoder: this is a continuing volume series, with most chapters being three to eight chapters. You must read them in order. The first one can be bought at: Amish Snowflakes: Volume One
Copyright by Sicily Yoder, 2013. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form either written or electronically without the express permission of the author or publisher.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are, therefore, used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to actual persons; living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher. Photo art by Paint Shop, Photo Bucket, chaoss@Big Stock, SNEHITDESIGN@BigStock, and Paha_L@BigStock.
Sicily Yoder’s Books
Amish Blizzards Volume Series
1. Amish Blizzards: Volume One: A Winter Surplus
2. Amish Blizzards: Volume One: A Barn Singing
3. Amish Blizzards; Volume Three: An Amish Cowboy
4. Amish Blizzards: Volume Four: That Other One
5. Amish Blizzards: Volume Five: Kissing Snow Angels
Amish Snowflakes Series
1. Amish Snowflakes: Volume One: Winter Letters
2. Amish Snowflakes: Volume Two: Kisses from Heaven
Amish Washdays
Amish Washdays Boxed Sets: Volume One
Heaven Driven Series
1. Heaven Driven: Volume One: Clouds Below Heaven
2. Heaven Drive: Volume Two: Hugs From Heaven
Single in Indiana Series
1. Single in Indiana: Volume One: Valentine's Kiss
Whoopie Pie Bakers Series
1. Whoopie Pie Bakers: Volume One: Silvery Snowflakes on Lancaster
2. Whoopie Pie Bakers: Volume Two: Kneeling to Heaven
Amish Orchards
1. An Autumn Wind in Walnut Creek: Amish Orchards: Book One
~TABLE OF CONTENTS~
~SPECIAL DEDICATION~
~CHAPTER EIGHT~
~CHAPTER NINE~
~CHAPTER TEN~
~CHAPTER ELEVEN~
~CHAPTER TWELVE~
~CHAPTER THIRTEEN~
~SPECIAL DEDICATION~
To Gott, who mends the brokenhearted and erases the sins. To a Savior, named Jesus Christ, who found each one of us worthy to die for, on a hill far away, called Calvary. This Amish Snowflakes story is for those who think that they have sinned so much that they can never be fit to be forgiven. May it bring you hope to reach out and pledge that special relationship with Christ.
To our first responders, who operate with angels daily to protect us. You all are the backbone of our communities. In memory of my step-granddad, Buford, “Boots” Robinson, who was a first responder with the first Anderson County Rescue Squad: I miss you, and I love you, and I keep a Bible by my bed as you had placed by your hospital bed. In memory of Grossidaedi’s colleague, both, with the Anderson County Rescue Squad and YKK Button Factory, Gilmond Curtsinger: you left a legacy for so many of us. You are dearly missed.
“Having worked with pregnant, unwed women and having seen their low self-esteem and feelings of betrayal, I was inspired to create this series. Gott has not forsaken you, and He will not forsake You. Ask, and Ye will be forgiven…” Ms. Yoder
The last two chapters of the previous volume are included for free since Ms. Yoder had encountered car wreck injuries, so there was a gap in the release dates. She wishes to thank her patient, loyal fans for waiting on the new volumes.
~CHAPTER EIGHT~
The atmosphere in the Emergency Department was of utter chaos as the medics worked on the elderly couple. They had third-degree burns, and their BP had drastically dropped. Even with shots of epinephrine, they had continued nose-diving. Several witnesses gathered in the ER waiting room, their hands laced to create a complete circle. One of the young men, a traveling evangelist, led the prayer. They needed angels now.
And lots of them.
The elderly woman’s heartbeat left and the ER staff started CPR. The mood in the ER was stressed, but the veteran staff was used to saving lives and turning pulses around. But, this time, they would fail: the lady’s body couldn’t withstand the sudden injuries. Suddenly, the man’s heartbeat also faded out to a flat line. The elderly couple had died one bed apart from each other.
And they would not be the last victim.
The coroner and EMS fought to get a jumbled BMW out from under the eighteen-wheeler. If someone was inside the mangled car, the coroner was sure their fate would be bad.
Hours later, the woman in the silver BMW, one of the ER staff’s own nurses, Brandy Thompson was pronounced dead. And the hospital staff was forced to call the daycare. Brandy had no living relatives. Her doctor-husband had died in a car wreck. Now, one had claimed her life too.
At the same intersection.
On the same day.
******
“You that Amish man that’s looking for those two babies?” the mechanic asked as he extended the squeegee over the windshield of the car that he was washing. Elijah sat on his motorcycle on the other side of the self-service pump, his thoughts on his twins. He’d failed to find them. He’d failed as a father. He felt like a failure.
Twice.
He’d failed to man-up and admit to being their father, and he’d failed to find them. How could he forgive himself? How could Gott forgive him? His mouth craved a good, ice-cold beer, but the thought of it made his mouth grimace. He should have been reading his Bible instead of sipping beer with the outside world. He should have been in love enough to admit that he’d messed up before the Amish woman that had delivered his girls. He should have been closer to Gott.
He should–had been– a Godly man.
But he wasn’t. And he knew it. He shook his head, a frown carving his tanned face. He loved God and even talked to God, but he wasn’t deeply rooted like he’d once been.
Before the motorcycle.
The mechanic had seen the disgust flash across Elijah’s face. “You need a good, cool drink of water?” The mechanic slid a warm smile as he took the squeegee and wiped it along the burnt-red shop rag. The crisp, nippy wind fanned the old man’s silvery hair, his blue eyes twinkling. The creases in his face were deep, his double-chin tilting as he eyed the window. “That looks mighty good!” He turned to Elijah, who had been watching the man’s meticulous cleaning.
The man seemed like his passion had been cleaning windows at the shop for years. “What a dedication,” thought Elijah as he sat helplessly on the bike. He wasn’t dedicated to anyone.
Even Gott.
But he had once been–halfway dedicated to Gott. He’d had the secret laptop and cellular phone. He’d gone out drinking with her Englisch neighbor.
And he’s broken the most beautiful woman’s heart—”
He’d deserted her. And he’d lied to her about the pregnancy. Well, he didn’t lie to her, for she’d never asked about it. But he hadn’t volunteered the information. His mind traveled back to the shop mechanic, who was standing there studying him. “Sorry, man, “Elijah said. “I miss my twins. I didn’t find them.”
The old man sighed and said, “You can’t have the whole world. Wouldn’t it be marvellous if you did?”
Elijah forced off a stray tear. “But kids are everything,”
The old man whispered, “Well if you can keep a secret, I will tell you where you can peek at them at, but you mustn’t say a word that I told you. It would put m
e out of business,” The old man’s baby blues looked for an agreement, and Elijah gave a quick nod before jumping a little off the black leather seat of the bike. Had this guy seriously promised to tell him where his twins were? It sounded too good to be true.
It wasn’t. The old man walked closer and stuffed the shop rag into his left back pocket. “Go down to the Noah’s Ark Daycare and pretend to be looking around for your youngins. They don’t have to know that they are already there.” The old man’s wrinkles tightened, and his lips drew a smile as the chilly wind teased the top of his silver-fine hair. “Look for a woman named Brandy. She drives a silver BMW.”
Elijah’s heart flipped. There had been a silver BMW under an eighteen-wheeler. Smoking and tangled; surely no one survived. “Did you know about the wreck in front of Doctor’s Plaza? Elijah asked, feeling his heart flutter out of his muscular chest. “A silver BMW was under an eighteen-wheeler.”
The man shook his head, his brow wrinkled. “Really, well the nurse works in ER, not at The Plaza. It wouldn’t be her.” The old man’s words created a sigh of relief for Elijah. Sure, the woman had taken his two girls, but he didn’t want her to be dead. She had to sign the twins back over to him. But then he remembered that they had been taken illegally. What a mess it would be if the adoptive mamm had really been under that eighteen-wheeler. How would he prove the kids were his kinner?
After gassing the motorcycle up, he paid the old man, thanked him for his information, and made his way down the busy street. His mind was like an electric show as he drove down the bustling street, the wind blowing across his tight chest and muscular arms. To the passersby, he looked like a stern, dedicated biker man just enjoying the day. But in reality, his heart was turned to mush. He couldn’t wait to see his precious, long-lost dochders. What shade of hair did each have? Did they look identical? Were they cheerful and free-spirited, or slightly eccentric and guarded like him? Did they have his double-chin and large eyes? Most of all were they ready to go home?
Without a mamm.
He loved them and wanted them. Would that be enough? He knew that Rachael had no clue that she had delivered three babies because she had been rushed to a C-section delivery and lost consciousness. She had said that she never wanted to hold the baby anyway, for she had been scared that she might want to keep her.
The bright orange, red, blue, and deep purple of a rainbow lit up the right side of the road as Elijah got closer. Larger-than-life animals and a wooden boat doubling as a replica of the ark filled the front of the parking lot. The moist wind fanned his hot neck and left shoulder as he signaled and turned into the lot. He parked the bike and quickly hopped off just as a sheriff’s car came barreling in, gravel flying everywhere. The deputy yelled, “We understand why you did it. You will be let go. They were your kids. Please put your hands up where I can see you. The detective is on his way to get your statement.”
Elijah shook his head, put his hands up and walked backwards to the car. He was no longer Amish, but being a rough biker, he knew the routine: the slow walk back towards the cruiser, the sudden pat down, and the sound of circling K-9 dogs. He’d been in several police raids, although he’d never gotten jail time.
And he’d never been killed.
Yet.
Hopefully, the good Lord would keep him and his girls safe. He was selling his bike today, and he would be cuddling his twin girls.
So he’d thought as blue lights flashed all around him…
~CHAPTER NINE~
Fifteen minutes before Elijah’s arrival to the daycare…
The twin girls’ eyes were mesmerized by the large mounted television that was in the oversized black van. They giggled and laughed with Mickey and Minnie Mouse and blew fake kisses to Mickey Mouse. Like most three-year-olds, they had been enticed from the schoolyard by the promise of candy.
Lots of candy. Whole goodie bags of candy.
The clown had made her debut at Noah’s Ark Daycare Center around 1:00 sharp, although the twins couldn’t tell time. Unlike the usual clowns, this clown had been a mommy clown, and she had taken a special interest in the twins. Her rainbow-striped hair glowed like the pastel-arch that guarded the daycare, and her fruity perfume flowed through the van.
As with most clowns, she smiled back at the girls and occasionally cracked jokes. She was warm, happy, and seemed to be driving in wide circles around the city of Shipshewana. “We are going to the farm, girls,” the female clown announced, but the girls ignored her. Minnie Mouse had just kissed Mickey Mouse and left bright, pink lipstick on his chubby cheeks. The girls were in heaven.
But not real heaven.
Yet.
The clown had made the drive all over the United States, picking up children that were rightfully hers.
And all of them had been created from unwed mothers. And all had been neglected and ignored by their unwed mothers. Poor babies. Why in the world did these young people have to be so foolish to take the bait?
A golden key to a quilt shop was tempting to single girls. Loaning out the shop key made the clown feel better, more powerful than she actually was, and it continued the legacy of her late mother’s hidden career.
Murder.
On the farm.
The more babies that she buried, she felt better about herself. And the void that rusted deep within her soul was temporarily quenched until the next single girl got pregnant and played her child’s death tune on the grand piano of the closed quilt shop in Shipshewana.
One might ask her why she killed. Why she was ruthless and careless, luring young unmarried couples to the shop and then kidnapping their babies and taking them out of this world. If one wanted to know, they needed to ask her father.
Or visit her twin sister’s grave.
On the farm.
The man had gone into a rampage the night that his wife had delivered twin girls. He’d wanted a boy. Therefore, he’d secretly buried her twin sister at the back of the farm. From that point on, the clown was an only child, being spoiled and pampered. But one cold winter day, she was sledding and found her sister’s grave. When she confronted her mother, her mother had said that the baby was born dead. The clown didn’t believe it because within an hour of telling her mother the news, her father went out and took the grave away. The clown had watched him from her bedroom window. It was a family secret.
Her sister had been murdered. Fearing for her own life, the clown pretended to ignore her sister’s grave.
And the graves that would come, as her mother waited.
To find another twin girl. One to replace her sister. But it never happened. Only single babies, never twins.
Until Rachael Zook and her Amish men friends found her hidden shop. Now, she had her twin sister. Smiling, the clown made a sharp turn off Main Street. She had finally succeeded in getting what she waited: a set of twins.
With Amish roots like hers.
~CHAPTER TEN~
Bobby Martin looked like anything but a renowned racecar driver as he wiggled his bare feet against the dash of the oversized tractor-trailer. A baggy, blue sweatshirt and cut-off denim jeans made him look more like a handyman. The opened passenger-side window blew a burst of fresh air across his tanned face, dangling his rich black curls. He looked up from the iPad that he was gripping between his two hands and saw miles of open interstate highway. Winter was bending down to an end as the smell of new green life smacked his face. Baby dandelions puffed up along the sloping awakening tree-lined hills like the fresh splattering of an anxious child’s feet touching the ocean’s sandy shore for the first time. Evergreen needles pricked their way through the waving trees as a Northern wind chilled the air.
Henry, his driver, comfortably rested his muscular back against the heated seat. His hands were loose around both sides of the brown leather-covered steering wheel, his mind as light as the silver baby-fine hair that bobbled above his leathered face. Huge wrinkles extended across his face, his blue eyes glimmering passionately about his job: to drive
the race-car driver’s multi-colored car to the next fan event. And Henry always looked like that, happy and free.
But Bobby was not free.
Renewal. That was what Bobby needed. And he wasn’t talking about renewal of his beat-up body from years of wrecking extremely fast cars around the Indy 500 racetrack. He wasn’t even thinking about a mental break from the fast-paced life of a well-known racecar driver. He needed more than that. To go deeper.
Much deeper. Actually, painfully deeper.
To why he ran away from home to seek fame and fortune. But he’d always experienced these thoughts when he and his pit staff would roll down Indiana Toll Road 80/90.
Past his home.
And the girl that he once loved.
Standing in the field of yellow-dotted and white-fluffed dandelions, her beautiful face, glistening baby blue yes, and silky, golden-blonde hair were brighter than any bouquet of wild flowers. And she stared at him, riddling him with imaginary darts of guilt.
And it was always like that when he’d roll through Northern Indiana near Shipshewana. The dazzling Amish girl, so sweet and kind had bright blue eyes and golden blonde hair. He missed brushed her hair in the middle of the field of dandelions. “Look, Bobby!” the beautiful girl would say, “Although the dandelion is past its prime and not a pretty yellow anymore, it is still magnificent.” She’d wiggle her little tanned nose and inhale an enormous drift of fresh air before releasing it against the white-puffed dandelion, white pearls of old seeds all around.
But here he was on another mission across Shipshewana. Another fan meet-and-greet and winks from gorgeous women. Blonde-haired, black-haired, red-headed: all the women were beautiful and adored him.
