Shattered Silence

by Marta Perry

  “I won’t tell you what I think of him, because the language would be unbecoming to my position here.”

  The acid tone made him glance at her, a little startled at discovering someone so close to Rachel who shared his opinion of Paul Hartline.

  “But I’m relieved to know she’s okay.” She didn’t seem to expect a response to that. She opened the door and led the way into the kindergarten classroom. “The things I found were lying on the desk, and a couple of the pictures were on the floor between it and the filing cabinet. Here they are. If I hadn’t checked the room before I left, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”

  She spread pictures out on the desk, and he saw photos of animals, fish, plants, seasonal landscapes and bodies of water. All of them perfectly harmless, telling the intruder nothing at all.

  So why did he or she get them out? “Where would these have been stored?”

  The woman indicated the filing cabinet against the wall. “In here. Teachers keep things like this for bulletin boards and to illustrate something they’re teaching. Rachel has always been organized about what she saved. These were in the third drawer down—it had been left open, but I had to close it before the children came in, of course.”

  He nodded, sliding the drawer open to find manila folders, each neatly marked. He leafed through them, seeing nothing unusual. His fingers stopped, feeling one out of alignment. Funny. It seemed to have been put in backward. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Rachel doing that, not when everything else was so well organized.

  Clint pulled out the file, turning it over. The label made his muscles tense. Photos of Grandfather Byler’s Farm, it read. He flipped it open. The file was empty.

  He heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to find that the woman had leaned over to see what he’d found.

  “I had no idea Rachel still had those here.”

  “You’d seen them before?” So much for the idea that the search wouldn’t have told the intruder anything.

  Ms. Baker nodded. “Of course. She had pictures she’d taken at the farm enlarged for a display we did in the hallway about where food comes from. It was a couple of years ago, so she’s probably forgotten all about it.”

  “Yes.” His mouth clamped on the word. “What should be in here? Do you remember?”

  She frowned, obviously trying to recall, and finally shook her head. “I don’t know, not specifically. There were probably ten or twelve that we used, but she might have had more. Pictures of cows grazing and being milked, that I do remember. Fields of corn, a silo.” She shrugged. “That sort of thing. Suburban children often have no idea where food comes from, other than the grocery store.”

  “Any that might be identifiable as a particular place or even give a hint to the location?”

  She shook her head, clearly upset. “I don’t know. She’s at her grandparents’ farm, I suppose. I thought as much, although I didn’t say anything. And now someone has taken the photos. I should have realized what was missing, but I didn’t... Well, never mind that. What are you going to do now?”

  He was already on his way to the door. “Call and warn her. And then get up there.” Not breaking his stride, he yanked out the cell phone and punched in Rachel’s number.

  It went straight to voicemail. Leaving a terse warning, he jumped in his car and headed down the street, calling Logan as he went.

  Logan, at least, was answering his phone. In a few short sentences, he gave his partner the gist of the situation. “I’m heading straight up there. You’ll handle things here?”

  “Right. I think, under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to put a man on to watch Ian Robinson. If he was in this and Hartline double-crossed him, he might be willing to do almost anything to find him.”

  “Good.” He came to a halt at a red light and sat fuming. “Worst time of the day to try to get anywhere in a hurry. I just hope Rachel checks her messages and has enough sense to get somewhere safe.”

  He ended the call and thought about calling the police in Echo Falls. If he did, he’d be in for lengthy explanations, and even then, there was no guarantee they’d do anything about it. And if they showed up at the farm, sirens blaring—

  He could imagine Rachel’s reaction to that. It was everything she didn’t want to inflict on her family. That wouldn’t stop him, but another thought did.

  He knew what Rachel would do if that happened. She’d leave. She was so determined that no one else would suffer for her affairs that she’d get out again. And this time there might be no way of finding her. No, he couldn’t risk it. If she got the message, or even if she followed the reasonable precautions he’d urged on her, no one would attempt anything in broad daylight with witnesses around. But he had to get there by dark.

  As he focused on the best route to get him away from city traffic, tension buzzed in his mind. What if she didn’t check her messages? What if she was still wandering around the farm on her own, protected only by two men who’d sworn never to use violence? What if he didn’t make it in time to keep her safe?

  * * *

  RACHEL SPENT A good part of the day with her grandmother, and by the time she’d helped with supper and cleaning up, she realized it was getting dark out and she hadn’t yet retrieved her cell phone from the charger in the milking shed. She went to the back door and looked out at the shadows.

  It wasn’t that dark out, but Clint’s warning kept repeating itself in her mind. No, she wouldn’t give him a chance to accuse her of stupidity. She turned and went back to the living room, where Grossmammi sat knitting, Grossdaadi read a copy of the Amish weekly newspaper and Timothy tinkered with a toy boat he was trying to fix for Daniel.

  It was a shame to disturb anyone, but her memory of sensing someone behind her in the dark was still strong. “Grossdaadi, are you going to the barn this evening? I thought I’d walk out with you.”

  He looked pleased. “Yah, I’d like fine to have your company. Chust let me finish reading this article, and I’ll be ready.”

  Impossible to insist on doing it sooner, so she sat on the footstool by her grandmother’s rocker, watching the rapid movement of the needles as they clicked. Now that she’d reminded herself, she was suddenly anxious to check the phone again.

  What if Clint had called or there had finally been a message from Paul? Still, she’d checked the phone in midafternoon, and there’d been nothing new then. She could hardly go running out to the milking shed every five minutes.

  Finally putting the paper aside, her grandfather planted his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. Catching her expression, he smiled.

  “Ach, Rachel, don’t look that way. Old bones get stiff from sitting, but I’m gut for a few more years yet, if so God wills it.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She took his hand, just as she’d done so often when she was small. “You always were the strongest man I knew, and you still are.” She kept pace with him as they walked to the back door.

  He was slowing down. Despite her words, she couldn’t help but see it, just as she’d seen that her grandmother was growing more frail. She should have come back more often to visit, no matter what Paul had thought. This had been the closest thing she’d ever known to a home when she was growing up, and she could never repay them for their loving support.

  Grossdaadi switched on a flashlight when they stepped out the back. “It gets dark quick this time of year. Before you know it we’ll be setting the clocks back.” He chuckled. “Too bad we can’t convince the cows to switch time. They still go by the sun, no matter what the clock says.”

  “So do you,” she said lightly. “You can’t fool me on that one.”

  “Ach, I try. But the school keeps to government time, just like the grain mill and the feed store. So I have to adjust. Other folks don’t understand that farmers live by nature’s timetable.”

  She
turned that over in her mind, thinking of the truth of what he’d said. “If I ask my students where milk comes from, they’ll say, ‘the grocery store.’ They miss something, living in their comfortable suburbs, I’m afraid.”

  “We miss things, too, living separate. But the rewards more than make up for anything we don’t have.”

  Rachel squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I can come here sometimes, just to slow down and remember.”

  “You’ll komm more often now, yah?” Her grandfather seemed to have read a great deal in her few words.

  “Yah,” she said, smiling.

  They’d reached the barn, and she helped slide open the door enough to walk through. Then she took a step back.

  “I’m going to run over to the milking shed to get my phone. I’ll be right back. Save some carrots for me to give them.”

  “I will. Take the flashlight, then.” Her grandfather handed it to her. “I have the battery lantern if I need more light.”

  She wouldn’t have asked for it, but the metal cylinder felt cold and solid in her hand. “Denke. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Grossdaadi was already turning in answer to the whickers of the horses greeting him, and she had to smile. Animals knew who cared for them.

  Still smiling, she stepped away from the barn door. Without her grandfather’s comfortable presence beside her, the night suddenly seemed darker. Silly to be nervous. He was only a shout away, and it wasn’t more than twenty feet to the milking shed. Fumbling with the switch of the flashlight, she set off toward the generator and her cell phone.

  The old well loomed up to her left, and her shoes were silent on the grass. Even the usual night sounds seemed muted. Then the faintest whisper of sound behind reached her. Had Grossdaadi decided...

  Something snapped around her neck, tightening instantly. It forced her head back, stifling her cry. Her hands flew to the cruel band, flailing helplessly. A body pressed against her, forcing her against the stones of the well.

  It was like a kick to her heart. Her blood pounded, her adrenaline surged. Fight, her mind screamed. Fight.

  The pressure on her throat, nearly cutting off her breath, panicked her. She kicked backward, hampered by the dress, unable to connect. Blackness swam before her eyes, blotting out the stars.

  The pressure eased, ever so slightly.

  “Tell me,” a voice whispered, harsh in her ear. “Where is it? Where is it? Tell me!”

  She sucked air in frantically, and the thing around her neck tightened as if in warning. “I don’t know,” she gasped.

  “Wrong answer.” The whisper came, soft as a lover’s, and her breath was cut off again.

  How can I tell you? I don’t know. But she couldn’t get the words out. The darkness closed in. Do something, she ordered her body, but it didn’t obey. Slip down, let the black close in...

  No! Forcing her fogged brain to work she remembered the flashlight, still clamped in her hand. Her only chance. Letting her body slump, she felt the cruel grip ease slightly. Now or never. She swung her arm back over her head, putting everything she had in the movement. She felt...heard...the flashlight connect.

  He stumbled, swearing, pushing at her. She tried to push back, but her body wouldn’t obey. Lights seemed to flash, cutting the darkness, and then she was falling, falling, screaming, grabbing for anything that would stop her downward plunge.

  Something brushed her arm. She grabbed, caught, snagged it with one hand. And stopped with a jerk that nearly pulled her arm from its socket.

  She was alive. She struggled to breathe again, trying to get her mind working. He’d pushed her, she’d fallen...the well. She’d fallen into the well, and now she dangled, pain jabbing her shoulder, demanding she let go.

  Gasping, she brought her other hand up, feeling her whole body swing precariously at the movement. She grabbed on, taking some of the weight, and the pressure eased. But if she moved... The slightest movement could jar her hands free. And nothing was below her but the blackness, the water and the rocks.

  * * *

  MOVEMENT FLICKERED FOR an instant at the edge of Clint’s headlight beams, and an instant later a scream cut the night, loud enough to hear even inside the car. He jerked the car toward the sound, bumped over the edge of the lane into the long grass and came to a halt. In an instant he was out and running, headlight beams spreading a path toward the old well by the barn.

  The well—that was where the movement had been. Rachel—

  Someone else was running—no, more than one person. A dark, man-shaped shadow bolted for the woods and faded into the shadows. The other figure resolved itself into Rachel’s grandfather running toward the well, calling out.

  “Rachel!”

  At the name Clint flung himself forward, reaching the stone well a step ahead of the old man. Steeling himself, he looked down, prepared for the worst.

  Rachel’s face was a pale oval in the gloom, looking up at him. Her hands clung tight to the well rope.

  “Are you all right?” Fear made his voice sharp.

  Rachel’s grandfather was calling something in dialect he didn’t understand. His hands gripped the edge of the well. “Rachel, child.” His voice broke.

  “Okay.” The sound was weak. Distant. “I can’t hold on...”

  “Yes, you can.” Clint forced a confidence he didn’t feel. “We’ll get you out. Just hold on.”

  He shot a glance at the older man and lowered his voice. “How deep?”

  Byler’s face was a taut mask. “The water is shallow now. Rocks underneath. If she falls...”

  “We won’t let her.” He gripped the older man’s shoulder for an instant. “First thing we need is some light to see her.”

  “She had a flashlight.” Byler dropped to his hands and knees to search. “Here.” He was up again, thrusting a cold metal torch in Clint’s hand.

  Clint flicked the switch, blessing the strong beam of light, and turned it to penetrate the darkness of the well. Rachel, about ten or twelve feet below them, closed her eyes against the brightness.

  “You’re going to be all right.”

  He tried to sound reassuring. But the well stretched twice as far below her, with only her hands, gripping the rope, between her and disaster. Her body swayed a little, the rope making tiny movements. He had to force himself not to think about the results if she fell twenty or thirty feet onto stones.

  “Are the rope and the winch strong enough to pull her up?”

  The older man seemed to be measuring Rachel’s probable weight against the rope. Finally he nodded. “Yah. It’s the best way. We couldn’t get a ladder down without the risk of hitting her. The others are coming.”

  Clint didn’t bother to look, but he could hear footsteps on the back porch and startled cries. He focused all his attention on Rachel, clinging desperately to a rope that must be cutting into her hands.

  “We’re going to pull you up. The rope might slip down a bit when we start, so hang on, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sounded more controlled now. She must be terrified, but she would hold the fear at bay, he thought.

  Clint grasped the handle with both hands. Timothy, reaching them, didn’t ask useless questions. Seeing that his hands wouldn’t fit on the handle, he grasped the metal bar that connected it to the spindle. The grandfather, apparently conceding that they were stronger than he, prepared to release the wheel.

  “On three,” Clint said. “One, two, three.”

  The pull on the handle slammed into him. Fighting the pain, he held it steady, not daring to look down at Rachel...

  “It’s all right,” Byler said. “The rope is holding. She’s got a gut grip.”

  Clint started to push, feeling the pressure against him as the rope tightened. Slowly he began to wind the rope up and Rachel with it. Timothy’s strong body braced next to him. Together they turned t
he handle, movements matching; even their breathing was in sync as they worked in unison.

  “She’s coming.” Sadie leaned over the edge. Her grandmother had her hands clasped together, her lips moving in what seemed a soundless prayer.

  Slowly, very slowly, Rachel inched her way upward. He fought to keep his attention on the spindle turning, the rope winding steadily. Her grandfather and Sadie reached out to her, waiting for the moment when they could clasp her in their arms and draw her to safety.

  A stab of envy went through Clint. He wanted to be the one to lift her out, to put his arms around her and hold her close. But that wasn’t his job. His job was to wind the rope up, muscles screaming, and bring her to safety.

  And then she was out, safe in their arms, and they were all crying.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CLINT AND TIMOTHY released the handle, and the bucket fell, clattering to the bottom, as the rope spun out. Timothy grinned at him.

  “Hard on the muscles, yah?”

  He nodded, not sure he could speak. Rachel’s grandfather put an arm around each of them to clasp their shoulders. “Gut work.” His voice was unsteady, and he took a deep breath. “Komm. Let’s get Rachel into the house.”

  They surrounded her, half leading, half carrying her toward the back porch. He lingered a moment, scanning what he could see of the woods into which the shadow had vanished.

  “You saw who did this thing?” Timothy followed the direction of his gaze. “Did he go into the woods?”

  “Yeah, he went that way. I didn’t see him close enough to identify.”

  He fought back any bitterness at having let the man go. He couldn’t have done anything else, not with Rachel in imminent danger.

  “Should we go have a look?” Timothy took a step in that direction.

  “Don’t bother.” Clint put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s long gone by now.” If he called the police—

  But reason told him that even if he convinced the local boys of who he was and what had happened, they’d be too late to get roadblocks up, aside from the fact that they wouldn’t know what kind of vehicle they were after or who the driver was.