“I called my boss and the police,” he said. “They know the criminal who looks like Dexter is here and are converging to find him. Hopefully, he won’t slip the net this time.” He looked over at his brother. “Thank you for keeping her safe,” he said.
Amos simply nodded. He flicked the reins, and the horse started trotting. “There was some trouble, but thanks to Gott, we were safe.”
“What kind of trouble?” Jonathan’s worried eyes searched Celeste’s face.
“We saw Doppel-Dex,” she said. “He confronted us as we were getting in the buggy.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jonathan said. His hand took hers and squeezed it. “Are you all right? Is everyone okay?”
Tears swamped her eyes. She’d barely been managing to hold them back, but the concern in his voice and the touch of his hand had somehow let them flow. She nodded. “He said someone had seen me go into the thrift store. He threatened us. But he didn’t recognize me! He was right there. In my face, waving a gun at us, and he didn’t recognize me. It’s like he didn’t look close enough. It was like he couldn’t see beyond the bonnet.”
“Thank You, Gott...”
The prayer moved simply and quietly over Jonathan’s lips, like hidden water moving beneath the rock. They lapsed into silence as the buggy left town and pulled out onto the highway. She felt Jonathan beside her on one side and his brother on the other, two such different but similar pillars of strength. She had so many questions. She didn’t even know where to start asking any of them; all she could do was pray.
The journey took longer than she’d expected. Despite the fear burrowing inside her and the odd tension between the brothers, after a while she found herself settling into the rhythm of the buggy and the soothing clop of the horse’s steps in the snow. It was peaceful in a way she couldn’t place, and again she felt the odd longing for a place she’d never known or seen move through her. She found herself very aware of the sound of the horse breathing and the way its flanks rose and fell. Despite everything that had happened, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt at peace.
Would there be any of this in the place where Jonathan was taking her? Would there be trees and rolling hills? Or would she be in a square of concrete walls, looking out through her window at more buildings and concrete?
Lord, I know all that matters right now is my safety and I don’t even know what I’m asking. Please just reassure me that You still have a plan.
After a while Amos flicked the harness and said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. The buggy turned right and went down a long driveway. A smattering of buildings appeared at the end, what seemed to be a house, a couple of barns and a garage. Then she saw a few vehicles gathered around it.
“Wait here,” Jonathan said. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
She searched his face, her eyes seeking out his for reassurance. But he didn’t meet her gaze. Jonathan and Amos walked side by side to the farmhouse with the gait of two men who were each inside his own world. She was left alone with the horse, standing there quiet and content, as thick flakes of snow swirled down around them. She tucked a warm blanket around the soft fabric of her skirt, finding the clothes much warmer and more comfortable than she’d expected.
I feel so lost and confused right now, Lord. Am I still within Your hand? How is all of this part of Your plan?
After a while, she heard Jonathan and Amos exit the farmhouse, followed by an elderly man clad in a large overcoat and hat. Jonathan opened the door of a truck and started the engine of a rusty maroon double-cab pickup truck. When it was cleared of snow, Jonathan walked over to the buggy. He reached for her hand and helped her down. She turned to Amos. His shoulders had sagged and there was a sadness about him that made her thankful he’d be back with Miriam and the children soon. She walked over to him and reached for his hand. He smiled and didn’t take it, but the kindness in his eyes dispelled every fear she had that she’d committed a social faux pas.
“Please thank Rosie, Mark and Miriam for their kindness,” she said. “I cannot thank you all enough for what you have done to help me. I will be praying, every day, that God blesses you and keeps you all safe.”
“And we will pray for you,” he said. “Travel safely.”
She walked to the truck, climbed inside and then sat there with the engine running, watching through the window as the two men paced around each other and shared an awkward goodbye. Jonathan walked back to the truck, and Amos left in the buggy. Jonathan pulled the truck down the driveway. They drove for a while, then stopped at a small gas station and changed back into their everyday clothes. When they got back in the truck, Celeste opened the picnic basket and ate the simple meal of bread, jam, meat and cheese. But when she offered some to Jonathan, he waved her off. His dark brows were knit. The truck shuddered and shook beneath them and for a moment she almost felt the familiar tension headache threatening to creep back.
“It was very kind of the farmer to let us have this truck,” she said, grasping for a topic of conversation when she could no longer take the silence.
“He didn’t. I bought it,” Jonathan said. His voice was clipped. He stared straight through the windshield. His thoughts, his feelings, everything about him seemed locked somewhere far away where she couldn’t reach it. “Two thousand cash. More than it’s worth but it’ll last long enough to get us to the drop-off point.”
“Drop-off point? What exactly are we dropping off?”
But if Jonathan heard her question he chose not to answer it. They kept driving. The tension in both her heart and her body grew stronger with each jarring shake and bump. The sun crept down toward the horizon.
“Talk to me, Jonathan, please,” she said. He’d done so much for her. He’d saved her life time and again. And what had she done for him? Nothing. There was nothing she could do for him. Even though something about him drew her heart, the same way the breeze rustling in the trees tugged at a deeper longing somewhere inside her.
“Talk to me,” she said. “Are you okay? Because you can talk to me, you know. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I’m here and I’m willing to listen.”
He hesitated. She waited.
Then he shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
No, he might want her to think he was fine, but clearly he wasn’t.
She took a deep breath.
Lord, I’m really not good at this. I’ve never been good at small talk or getting people to open up. But I promised You I’d always try to listen to Your prompting even if I didn’t understand it.
“What happened between you and Amos?” she asked.
“I left,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “I was eighteen. We fought. I stubbornly thought I was right and he was wrong. I left and never came back.”
Her hand rose to her chest. He’d walked out on his family?
“But Miriam and the children...”
“I never knew they existed until today,” he said. “When I chose not to be baptized and to become a cop, I lost everything.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell me you’re Amish?” she asked.
He bristled.
“I’m not Amish,” he said. “I was raised Amish but I was never baptized. Being Amish isn’t something you’re born into. It’s something you choose, and not something you choose lightly. It’s a commitment between you and God, in relationship with the community. I deeply love and respect the plain life. But I’ve always felt something inside me telling me to work in law enforcement.”
She waited, letting the silence—uncomfortable as it was—fill the space between them, with the rattle and shake of the vehicle. She didn’t understand how he’d grown up, what he’d gone through or how he could’ve walked away from his family. She didn’t understand what it was about Jonathan that kept pushing her out and p
ulling her back in again like the beating of a heart or waves gently lapping a shore. But she could listen.
“The story I told you about the day I knew I was meant to be a cop was true,” he said. “Every word. I was in Hope’s Creek with my mother and my brother when I was about eight and he was seventeen, when some tourists started hassling us because we were Amish. They followed us and threw things at us. They knocked my mother down and gave my brother a bloody lip...”
His voice trailed off. He ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“I was scared,” he said. “I was really scared. I was little, and the most important people in my life were being hurt. I balled up my fist and punched back as hard as I could. And they laughed at me and I fell down. Then this car was there, suddenly, beside us with flashing lights and noise. This man and woman stepped out in uniforms with badges and they made the bullies stop.” His voice rose. “They protected us. They rescued us. They defended us.”
He paused. Silence filled the truck again. The rattle of the ancient vehicle shuddered beneath them.
“That was it,” he said. “That was the moment for me. That was when I knew who I was meant to be and what I was meant to do. I was supposed to be there to protect people who couldn’t defend themselves. The police had rescued us, and I was going to spend my life doing just that. Rescuing others. But Amos didn’t see it that way.”
No. From the little she knew of Amos, she imagined he wouldn’t.
“How did he see it?” she asked.
“For Amos it was an important lesson that being called to live for God means that sometimes we face persecution,” Jonathan said, “and that sometimes walking in God’s path for us isn’t easy. It was the start of a major fight between us that neither of us could back down from. Maybe we were just too stubborn. Or maybe it mattered so much to each of us that we couldn’t see it any other way. But it was a barrier between us that just grew and grew until I didn’t know how I’d ever be able to tell him that I felt called to leave. How could I? It was a reminder that we would never see things the same way. See, he didn’t blame the bullies for being ignorant or having evil in their hearts. In his mind, they didn’t know any better. Still he blamed me for getting angry and losing my temper...” His voice broke. “Or maybe he didn’t. But it felt to me like he did. But they were threatening and hurting my mother. What else could I do?”
His voice trailed off again. Suddenly she could see him, in her mind’s eye, standing there with his small fists raised. Sudden and unbidden tears filled her eyes.
“I know you don’t seem to believe that God calls people to things or that God has His hand on your life,” she said. “But I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen you call out to God to help us through. I believe, or at least I think, that maybe God was calling you to do exactly what you’re doing. Maybe God called you to protect people. Maybe God really did want you to become a US marshal in witness protection. You just tried to go about it in the wrong way.”
She didn’t know much. She didn’t know this man and couldn’t begin to pretend she understood his story. But she knew the God he’d read about in the Bible as a child. She knew the God he’d prayed to and called out to. She knew what she believed.
“Do you miss the Amish way of life?” she asked.
He glanced at her sideways. “With almost every beat of my heart. But that doesn’t change the fact I know who I am and what I’m meant to be doing.”
Okay. Then didn’t he hear what he was saying? How couldn’t he see what was so clearly in front of him?
“I don’t believe God would put a calling on your heart if it wasn’t God’s plan for your life,” she said.
“I know that’s what you believe,” he said. “But do you think it was God’s plan for your apartment to blow up? Or for you to be on the run from killers? Do you think any of what you’re going through is bringing you closer to that house in the country? Because I’m telling you that’s not what life in witness protection is like.”
Something bristled at the back of her neck.
“Hope doesn’t make a person weak, Jonathan. Neither does faith.”
“I wasn’t meaning to imply it did,” he said, then he sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this. I’m a very private person and I don’t like letting people in. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about what happened today. Not about my brother. Not about my past. None of it.”
There was something final about the way he said it, like a door had closed somewhere in the air between them.
“Of course not,” she said. “I don’t know when or how I even would.”
“You’ve been reassigned to US Marshal Stacy Preston,” he said without looking her direction. “In a little over an hour we’ll reach the drop-off point, meet up with her and go our separate ways.”
She sat back on the uncomfortable vinyl seat, sucking in a sudden shallow and painful breath like she’d just had the wind knocked from her.
She was being reassigned to Stacy? Why? How? What did this mean? A dozen questions filled her mind, but only one escaped her lips.
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked.
He shook his head. His shoulders dropped as sudden sadness seemed to sweep over him.
“No,” he said. “Probably not.”
Oh. She leaned back against the seat, trying to ignore the prickling of tears at the edge of her eyelids and the pain of her breath as it rose and fell in her chest.
God really was closing a door, then. Whatever it was she felt, whatever it was that had nudged her toward Jonathan, God was closing a door, changing her path, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The late-afternoon sun flashed against the windshield, blinding her eyes and pushing the tears closer to falling. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, suddenly feeling too tired to keep them open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept, really slept. Jonathan didn’t speak. Neither did she. She just sat there with her eyes closed and her head leaning against the vinyl headrest, feeling the uncomfortable springs pressing against her. She wasn’t sure how long she drifted in that uncomfortable space between being neither fully awake nor asleep. She felt she’d been fighting sadness, doubt and fear for so very long, and it had finally caught up with her, lapping at her heels, sweeping her over, pulling her down.
Lord, what’s going on? Why did You bring this man into my life and why am I feeling drawn to him if he’s about to leave?
No, she wouldn’t give up hope. She couldn’t. Somehow this was all going to work out according to God’s plan. Stacy was a wonderful agent and she’d connected really well with her. Stacy would keep her safe. Everything was going to be okay. It had to be.
A car filled her eyes in an instant, small, black and seeming to come from nowhere. Then it hit them with a bang, hard and deafening, seeming to shake the truck and throwing her hard against the passenger door.
“Hang on!” Jonathan shouted. The truck swerved. “Help us, Lord. Save us, Gott.”
She held on tight as the world shook. They were spinning, flying off the road. Metal screeched. The truck crashed, cutting off Jonathan’s prayers in an instant. She looked up.
There was a web of broken glass. Beside her, Jonathan was slumped over the steering wheel. “Jonathan!” Her hand fumbled for the seat belt.
Help us, Lord! Please help us, Lord.
She released the seat belt and turned toward him. The door fell open beside her. Hands rushed in, dragging her backward, clamping a rag over her face and stifling a scream as it tried to escape her lips. Something sickening and sweet filled her senses.
She tumbled backward, feeling herself being yanked roughly from the truck.
Her body hit the ground. Darkness swirled around her, threatening to pull her under.
* * *
Jonathan’s head ached. Stars filled his ey
es and pain pulsed through his body. He slumped forward and the long, loud, wailing sound of a horn filled his ears and echoed through his head. Celeste’s muffled scream still hung in the air. They’d been in a car crash, a direct collision with a vehicle that had shot out of a side road, rammed into them and forced them off the road, like someone on a near suicide mission. They’d been thrown into a wild spin as the old truck’s brakes had seized. His eyes refused to open. His body refused to move.
Save me, God! I’m helpless! I know I tried to push You away. I know I’ve stubbornly thought I could live this life on my own. But right now, I can’t do this on my own. I need Your help. I need to save Celeste.
Her face filled his barely conscious mind. Those beautiful green eyes huge with curiosity and intellect. The way her hair fell in soft blond waves around her face. The way her fingers felt when they slipped in between his. The way she pushed and challenged him, chipping away at the walls surrounding his heart until he feared they just might swing open. No, he couldn’t let the pain win. He had to fight back. He had to push through. He had to save her.
“Help me, God! Help me save Celeste!” His eyes snapped open as the prayer left his lips. He peered through the windshield, watching through the cracks as a young man half carried and half dragged Celeste toward it. He popped the trunk and pulled Celeste toward it.
No! He would not take her.
Jonathan yanked the seat belt away and tumbled from the truck, landing hard on one knee.
“Stop!” Jonathan pulled himself to his feet and raised his hands with his service weapon clutched steadily in his grasp. “Put her down! Gently! Then get down on the ground! Hands in the air!”
The man froze. He was maybe in his late twenties, with a thin face that had seen more than his fair share of beatings. Jonathan didn’t want to shoot him, especially not while he was holding Celeste, but he was prepared to if that was what it took to save her life. Jonathan steadied the gun.
Amish Hideout (Amish Witness Protection Book 1) Page 10
