Amish Snowflakes: Volume Three: Saved by a Convoy

by Sicily Yoder

But they didn’t blow old dandelion seeds all around.

  And they were not Amish.

  He had to think that he hadn’t settled down yet because he wanted to find a woman like that Amish woman. Traveling via open tractor-trailer was not a life to find the Amish girl again. Bobby knew that, but he wanted to stay where he was like stagnant muddy water in a pond.

  Because it felt good.

  Really good.

  The fame, the crowd’s roaring praise, and the laminated posters of him in front of his red, blue, and white racecar. Fame was hard; for once it got hold of you. You lived for it.

  Bobby did not. He was different. He lived for one man.

  Christ Jesus. Bottom line, Jesus was his best-friend. He started his day with Jesus and ended it with Jesus. It was what the Amish had taught him. It’s what they had stood for, and it’s what he stood for in life.

  Except for a part of his past that he kept locked away deep within his chest. A torn letter hidden in the bottom of his mother’ s hope chest had changed his thinking about his mere existence, and that was when he vowed to take up racing cars with his Englisch friends.

  Then they led him away.

  Far away. Too far away from his Plain heritage.

  But not too far from his best-friend.

  Christ Jesus. The Savior. The Man who was a humble carpenter. The Man that people hated. But He loved them. He forgave them.

  Bobby needed to forgive like Jesus did. He needed to get the courage to go back home and ask his mamm about why she’d done what she’d done by the lakeside that day. Why she had gotten revenge instead of offering forgiveness. Why she had made the mistake.

  A mistake that made Bobby question his mere existence. And his Plain heritage. But he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t ever approach her about it. But he prayed that she’d have her day in church and confess her awful sins before the church members.

  She hadn’t yet.

  Bobby’s baby blues flickered as they neared closer to Shipshewana. His mind pictured some side roads off an exit that led to Shipshewana. His palate could taste a triple-decked ice cream cone, the waffle variety, from E & S Sales’ store. What flavors was he in the mood for today? Spring was budding, so it was too late for peppermint. Maybe orange sherbet, Lemon Ice, and banana? His mouth watered just as Henry jotted the steering wheel to the right to avoid being hit by a swerving van. A quick flicker in Henry’s eye ruffled his mood, but then the thick, tanned lines in the older man’s face smoothed out, and a smile emerged.

  As usual, Henry was not rattled by bad-driving tourists. “Glad I wasn’t in a buggy!” Henry shook his head, his lips blowing out a slight amount of steam. “We could have been killed. They need to slow down. They’ll get to Amish Country soon enough.”

  “They drive like that in Shipshewana too,” Bobby added before stretching his bare feet against the dash, the tips of his toes pressing against the chilly windshield glass. He jerked his toes back feeling a sharp zip of coolness run down his toes to his ankle. “Winter is still here.” Bobby scanned the sloping hills. The budding trees still had a lot of bare spots, and the earth had more brown spots than he wanted it to have. He was ready for spring.

  For a renewal.

  How could he be renewed without eating a triple-decked ice cream from E & S Sales? How could he relax without standing on Our Front Porch chatting with the menner? He glanced down at his iPad and saw that it was Monday. Free donuts at Ben’s Bakery and piping-hot, complimentary coffee.

  Henry’s stomach growled getting Bobby’s attention. Henry blushed. “I know I had a stack of pancakes at I Hop, but I guess the ice cream that I ate for dinner didn’t stick with me.”

  “A triple-decked waffle cone from E & S Sales would stick with you!” Bobby’s eyes lit up as if he was floating on heaven’s clouds, and the tractor trailer’s speedometer seemed to take the hint as it opened up and extended past ninety-miles-an-hour down the steep hill. Quickly, the air brakes crinkled, and the truck slowed down to seventy-two-miles-an-hour. Bobby eyed the speedometer. “We’re going way too fast. Let’s make a quick detour and head South of Shipshewana to grab an ice-cream. The fresh scent of lilacs smothered their faces and their mouths watered, but Henry was hesitant.

  And he had good reason…

  ~CHAPTER ELEVEN~

  Henry bit his bottom lip and prayed for a way to handle his famous passenger’s restlessness. Henry had been warned by the racecar team management that he was to avoid making a southern turn from Indiana Toll Road 80/90.

  Ever.

  Or he’d lose his job. Henry remembered the owner throwing his fist down on his cherry desk, money flying all around, when he’d learned that they’d stopped at the Shipshewana exit to gas up. “I lose that boy to Amish Country, I lose everything!” The owner had said.

  Would Henry take the chance of Bobby toting back some Amish postcards to the owner’s sixteen-year-old daughter? It was like playing poker with your life, your career. Henry didn’t want to lose. But he wanted to relax.

  And get a triple-decker ice-cream. He turned, his hands gathered pearls of sweat. “I just don’t want us to get busted this time, Bobby.”

  “I can sneak his daughter a couple of post cards, Henry!” Bobby said, gathered an almost nauseous look from Henry. Henry’s eyes slid down, his face paling.

  “I can’t.” Henry snapped. “I have to feed my family. And Ramona needs our insurance to pay for her cancer treatments. Six-K a shot is expensive.”

  Bobby turned and gripped the iPad against his chest. “I have millions. I’ll pay for all the treatments.”

  Henry was stunned. “For an ice-cream cone from E & S Sales? How good is their ice-cream?”

  A soft smile washed over Bobby’s face. “It’s more than the ice-cream. It’s the way of life. A glimpse into my past.”

  Henry gripped the steering wheel and replied, “You’re homesick, and you want to leave me.”

  Bobby nodded and said in an incredulous tone, “I want to be Amish again. To feel the crisp spring air run through my hair.”

  Henry disagreed. “You drive racecars over one-hundred miles an hour. Isn’t that enough enjoyment?”

  “I don’t feel Gott in that racecar.” Bobby frowned and smelled more fresh bouquets of flowers. “See, we are driving so fast that we aren’t stopping to smell the roses.”

  Henry shook his head, wondering how he was going to put bread on the table when Bobby jumped back over the fence into Amish Country. How would he feed his desire for the gambling boat? Sure, he was an auditor, but he still loved the Wheel of Fortune machine. It was clear that Bobby was getting restless.

  Again.

  Like every spring as they rolled past the Shipshewana exit. And like every spring, Henry loosened his knotty shoulders, sighed, and thanked God that he’d made it past that Shipshewana exit. One day, that boy is going to get me to make that turn. One day, he is going to run.

  Back home. To Shipshewana.

  And the beautiful girl that he left in the field.

  Sweat poured down Henry’s face as a trucker came on the CB with urgent news:

  “Amber Alert; I just heard it in the Pilot Truck Stop. Two blonde-haired girls, twins are on their last ride with a clown in a mini-van. Their mother was killed this morning in a car wreck. Their biological father, an Amish man-turned outlaw-biker is in custody. He isn’t saying how much he paid the clown to take the girls for him. Look for ’em, and let’s get them home.”

  Bobby could have screamed in delight. “That’s Elijah Yoder’s twins. I heard about it through the gossip vine.”

  Henry slid his blue eyes toward Bobby, and Bobby nodded in agreement. They didn’t need to exchange words. Amber Alerts were serious, and both men had helped get over a dozen lost children back home.

  But never any Amish kinner.

  Scanning the passing cars, both men looked for a van with a clown and twin blond-haired girls. A fellow trucker came on the radio and said, “I am one exit down from Shipshewana, and d
on’t see them.”

  Bobby and Henry sighed and sent up prayers as they always did when children were missing. Henry eyed the exit past Shipshewana and grew tears in the corner of his eyes. Would they find the twins before it was too late? Henry turned to Bobby and said, “The mother is dead, so why not let the father have the girls?”

  Bobby snickered. “It’s not that simple. The nurse adopted them, and the biological mother doesn’t know about them.”

  Henry became puzzled, his brow narrowing. “She had them, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but she had an emergency C-section and was told she’d had one child.”

  Henry’s mouth flew open. “So she doesn’t know she delivered a set of twin girls?”

  “Triplets.” Bobby blurted before inhaling more quick smells of lilacs. “Isn’t it early for lilacs? I wondered who planted them.”

  Henry shook his head. “Probably the state road department to lure folks to Shipshewana.”

  Bobby agreed before hesitantly saying, “The triplet’s mamm was the girl.”

  Henry’s brow wrinkled, his eyes lingering toward Bobby. “What girl?” He was hoping it wasn’t that girl; the one in the field of bright yellow and old, white dandelions.

  But it was. “It was her,” Bobby softly spoke. “She was my spring delight, my soul mate, my beautiful Rachael Zook.”

  “She had children by another man, and you still want her?” Henry hoped that adding a bit of damaging character to this Amish beauty would help Bobby calm down. Henry looked up and saw that they were now three exits past Shipshewana, and a black van was swerving up the road. “No, God, No!” How in the world could they encounter such an event? “How in the world did we ask for this?” the black van swerved to the left and then to the right.

  Henry’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his teeth clenched together. “She’s got a CB in that van! She’s got to. She is telling me that she’s wreck with those twins.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. She’s never seen a convoy has she?” Bobby snapped as he exchanged nods and grins with Henry.

  “This is Henry the driver for Bobby Martin. The Bobby Martin who drives the famous Land O’ Lakes and Alouette red, blue, and white racecar with a touch of beautiful dandelion yellow. I’ve got him in the passenger’s seat, and this set of blond-haired twins is his former fiancé’s biological daughters. Their mother was killed in a tragic car wreck this morning. But their one-day step-dad is here.” Henry’s handed clamped down on the steering column, his eyes courageously scanned the black van as they passed. The clown’s mouth was wide open as if she didn’t believe the story.

  But she did because she’d planted the golden key for Elijah Yoder, Jeremiah Troyer, and beautiful Rachael Zook to enter her quilt shop during Rumspringa and party. She’d done it before. She’d kidnapped many a child.

  But never one with a famous racecar-driver stepdad. She yanked her head away from viewing the tractor-trailer and slowed down her black van.

  Henry quietly passed her and clicked the CB receiver with his right thumb. “I want the girls safe. I just saw that you had a blue toy gun. You’re not a real killer—”

  “Like the serial child killer that’s been on America’s Most Wanted.”

  He was wrong.

  ******

  “Let her go. If you form a convoy, she may run off the road with the girls. I’m sure Elijah is paying her. She won’t hurt the kids.” Bobby said as he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the clown slap her right hand over her mouth. “I see her now. She is scared half to death. Bruder Elijah wanted his girls back, and the adoptive mamm is dead. Please let them go back home. He won’t hurt his girls. They need their daed.”

  Henry slid a glance and nodded before clicking in the gas pedal and moving into the right lane. He would obey Bobby’s wishes, but several truckers had gotten behind him and boxed in the black van. “Looks like Elijah is going to prison. They have a convoy!”

  Bobby’s head went down in his lap, his forehead resting atop the glass screen of his iPad. He gulped some deep breaths and felt his stomach tilt. Elijah did not deserve this fate. But what could he do? If only he hadn’t left Amish Country for fame and fortune, he’d not be in the middle of a nationwide Amber Alert and looking at his Christian bruder going to prison.

  Christian bruder? Both, he and Elijah were not considered Christian bruders anymore. They’d jumped the fence. They’d deserted their flocks; they were the long lost sheep.

  Would they be the prodigal sons? Bobby lifted his head up and eyed the next exit. He would be the prodigal son only in his dreams. And in his dreams, he got off four exits back at home.

  Shipshewana.

  ~CHAPTER TWELVE~

  Ben Zook sat in the white rocking chair on the porch of Our Front Porch in Shipshewana and listened to the paramedic’s radio blurt the news of the chase for the black van.

  And his great-granddaughters.

  Just like The Shipshewana Country Store that nestled in Our Front Porch’s huge store, his granddaughters had been a hidden treasure. And that was why he’d been so keen on Elijah. His granddaughter needed the daed of her kinner, not Jeremiah Troyer. Ben had always thought that God intended for a child to have both parents, even when one had left.

  Because of sin.

  Ben’s face tensed, outlining his jaw muscles, and he tried to hide his anger as he pushed his hands along the sides of his pocketless blue work pants, drawing fists on each side. Anger wasn’t right in a Christian man, but it had filled his body this morning. He gritted his teeth and watched the busy gossipers. They needed to go away and mind their own business. They knew that the Old Order Amish were private people.

  Or did they? Ben had to ask himself. Had he gotten too friendly with the local men to give a false impression of a close-knit friendship? Ben slowly scanned the front porch men from left to right: Frank Smith had done business with him since his kinner were small, and Frank had been the first outsider on the scene when his barn had burned down. He was even on the local fire department with him. They’d shared lots of smoke and sorrow.

  But lots of praise too. Miracles. Plain miracles: stories of God’s protection for families that prayed while trapped in flaming homes. To the right of Frank was Leroy Taylor: also on the fire department. He was also a Godly man. To his right was long, brown-haired and full-bearded, Hank Thompson. He had only lived in town for a few years. His “Volunteer Firefighter” shirt stuck out today.

  As did his radio blaring the fight of some truckers to get the twins to safety.

  But not God’s safety. God had different plans for the twins, and ben knew it. As many times that Ben and these men had fought fires, cut people out of upside-down cars, their faith should be solid and firm.

  It wasn’t. And it wasn’t just Ben that was feeling afraid of the fate for the twins. His fellow first responders were keeping their distance from him for the first time. They knew that the world of the Englisch and the world of the Plain folks had collided, and for the first time, he was apart from his colleagues. They were siding with rescuing the twins.

  Ben was siding with not rescuing the twins.

  A quick breeze trickled across the long white porch of Our Front Porch and ruffled a couple fragments of hair atop all the men’s heads, except Hank, who appeared to have run out of the house with a wet head.

  Typical of first responders. Their job was to rescue. Ben understood that, although it felt odd to be apart from the mission, to be peeled away from his team. It wasn’t fair. Elijah had helped make those girls, and he deserved those girls. It may have been wrong in the Englisch world, but it hadn’t been wrong in the Amish world to for Elijah to take his twins back. In the Old Order, familye and Gott meant everything.

  Everything. The more that Ben thought about it, the madder he got. He felt the heat rush into his face, and his cheeks tighten. Justice on the highway with a pack of truckers. That wasn’t justice. Justice was Elijah getting to hold his twins and read bedtime stories to
them. Justice was Elijah and Rachael sitting at the dinner table eating dinner as a familye. And justice was those twins being raised sitting in a backless wooden pew every other Sunday to worship the Lord in German.

  The Lord was everything.

  The Sheriff came walking up the steps and stood at the top step and eyed Ben, breaking Ben’s negative thoughts. Ben stared at him, his eyes deepened. The sheriff took his star-embellished hat off and gave a sympathetic nod. “I think that you know what happened this afternoon in Shipshewana.” All heads turned to look at Ben, but Ben did not answer; he only gave a nod, got up, walked past the sheriff and made his way down the steps. “I am sorry, Mr. Zook. I know that you thought a great deal of Elijah Yoder.” Ben ignored the sheriff’s words and walked on to his buggy just as his son, Earl Zook pulled up in his black open buggy. Ben’s eyes watered as he looked up at Earl’s pale blue eyes. A nippy current of unwanted wind blew against Ben’s blue shirt. The wind should be headed away from Shipshewana down Indiana Toll Road 80/90 to move the twins away from the truckers. Ben’s head titled down slightly, his eyelids flipping closed for a moment of solitude. There was no wind that could move a trucker convoy off that interstate no matter how hard he prayed.

  Ben had to admit that it felt odd to be praying for the wind. In fires, the wind is an enemy because it spreads fires. He looked up at Earl and grimaced. The first responders standing on Our Front Porch must have been praying harder than him. They had the wind on their side. They also outnumbered him.

  Ben mustered up the courage to accept Elijah’s fate. “The first responders will get the twins to safety. God’s on their side for some reason.” Ben looked up at the sky and wondered why God had to be against him. The time that Vick Graham fell through the burning home, God had ignored their prayer. The time that one child was missing and unaccounted for in the fire, God had ignored their prayer.

  Actually, God had his own plans. Ben sighed. Any first responder, even an Amish one would tell you it’s hard to accept God’s plan at times when the shock is still digging deep within your chest. Today was no exception. God had other plans for the twins.