Woodland Miracle (9781401688332)

by Reid, Ruth

  Grace spun in the direction of the caller. She sucked in a sharp breath as the nearby pine branches moved. Ben emerged from the evergreens, brushing the pine needles off his pale-blue shirtsleeve.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Florida,” she said.

  He motioned to his boots. “I couldn’t leave wearing your bruder’s boots.”

  “Really?” Grace shook her head in disbelief. “You missed your bus to return those old boots? I don’t think Emery would have missed them. Besides, he has another pair.”

  “That’s okay. I had another reason too.” He kicked at a leaf on the ground.

  Grace’s thoughts whirled in a million directions. “Did you and Toby decide to stay and help Bishop Yoder with the orders?”

  “Toby went back.” Ben moved past her and over to the tree. He tipped the plastic bucket and looked inside. “That’s all the sap the tree puts out?”

  “Ah . . . jah, this is the end of the season,” she said once Ben’s question fully registered.

  Ben inspected the tree trunk. He touched an area where the tree had healed from a previous tap.

  “Those marks are from a couple of years ago,” she said.

  “How many times can you tap a tree?”

  “Several, if it’s healthy. The red maples live to be well over a hundred.” She looked up at the branches full of new buds. “This one’s in gut shape. Our kinner will tap—I didn’t mean our—as in yours and mine.” She blew out a breath. Could she have sounded any more desperate? “Other generations, I meant to say. Nett our—”

  A smile tugged at his lips and her thoughts flitted to his lingering kiss. Heat crawled up the back of her neck.

  “I know what you’re trying to say.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you let me babble on like some fool?”

  “You take things too seriously,” he said. “Don’t call yourself a fool. That’s far from the truth.” He mumbled something else under his breath. As his gaze traveled up the tree, his expression sobered.

  The awkward silence gnawed at Grace. “You could have mailed the boots.”

  “I suppose.” His lighthearted mood was suddenly missing as he continued to study the tree.

  Perhaps it had something to do with why he didn’t return to Florida with Toby. “How long do you plan on staying in Badger Creek—nau that you’ve had the chance to return the boots?”

  He motioned to his feet. “I haven’t given them back yet.”

  Does that mean indefinitely? She stopped herself from asking. It didn’t matter. In another week or two, the men would return from camp and she and Aenti would leave for Ohio. “I suppose I’ll see you around,” she said, taking a few steps toward the path.

  Ben caught up in a couple of long strides. “Where are you going? The haus is that way.” He motioned in the opposite direction.

  “I thought I would find LeAnn collecting the buckets, but nau I’m thinking she went to her friend’s haus on the other side of the woods.”

  “She didn’t.”

  Grace stopped midstep and pivoted toward him. “You saw her?”

  He nodded. “At the bus station.”

  Her jaw went slack.

  “I had no idea.” Ben lifted his arms, palms out. “That’s the truth, Grace.”

  “Where did she go? Did she leave with Toby?”

  He shook his head. “His bus had already left. I don’t think she was there for us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was sitting on the bench at the bus station reading a letter—when I glanced up, I saw her. She looked startled, and . . .”

  “And what? Tell me, please, I need to know.”

  “She was talking with an Englischer. His name is Clutch.”

  “Clutch?”

  “He works at the bus station.” A squirrel made a tsk-tsk sound and Ben paused long enough to look behind him. It flicked its furry tail, then darted along the length of a fallen log and disappeared into the underbrush. Ben turned back to her. “I didn’t get the impression she was waiting for a bus. I think she went there to see him.”

  Grace put her hand over her mouth. Her father would be distraught over the news.

  “She’s at the haus now,” he said.

  “You made sure she got home safely? Is that why you didn’t leave?”

  Ben bowed his head and shuffled his feet. The man was humble.

  “Danki.” Grace drew a deep breath and released it. “Did you talk with her? Did she tell you what she was doing at the station—with an Englischer?”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t mei place to ask.”

  “Well, it is mine.” She marched toward the house. Her sister had some explaining to do. Clutch. Who in their right mind would name their child after a piece of machinery?

  “Grace,” Ben said, coming up beside her. “Everyone makes mistakes. I’ve sure made plenty of them.”

  “What are you saying? I should let her ruin her life so she can learn from her mistakes?”

  “I don’t know what I’m trying to say—except you don’t need to be so . . . judgmental. Understanding and forgiveness goes a long way . . .”

  Grace stood ramrod straight.

  “Condemnation will push her farther away.”

  When Grace’s eyes locked on his, it was as if God removed a veil from her eyes, and she sensed the depth of his pain. I disappointed mei father—for the last time, as he put it. Then he sent me here. She recalled Ben’s words and the same hurt in his eyes.

  He looked away. “We should get going. I still need to speak with the bishop.”

  A deafening silence fell between them as they continued the course. He kept his head down and appeared to be deep in thought. Reaching the house, Grace cleared her throat. “Would you like to kumm inside for a cup of kaffi before you leave?”

  “Just kaffi? Nay cookies?” He protruded his bottom lip in a pout.

  Grace smiled. “I think I can find you a few cookies.”

  She led the way up the porch steps and opened the door. Voices came from the kitchen. Grace recognized Aenti’s, but not the man’s voice. Clutch? Had he come to visit LeAnn? Anger rose within her. She murmured a short prayer for the right words as she rounded the corner to the kitchen.

  Seated at the head of the table, the man jammed a cookie in his mouth. The crumbs spilled onto his whiskered face and down the front of what looked like the same short-sleeved shirt Ben had worn the first day he arrived.

  Aenti Erma made a nervous nod toward the man. “We have another visitor from Florida.”

  A hungry visitor. The cookie jar was full this morning and now it had maybe a half dozen left.

  “This is Gordon Wellford.” Aenti smiled warmly at the man, then turned to Ben. “He’s a long way from home. I told him your district was in Florida too.”

  “Long way,” the man said, looking at Aenti as if for reassurance. “Long way from home?”

  He didn’t know? Grace took a step farther into the kitchen, and the stranger snatched the cookie jar from the table and pressed it against his chest. She paused for a half second, and then, feeling his gray, wideset eyes following her across the room, she moved in front of the sink.

  The floor plank creaked when Ben took a step.

  Still clutching the jar, the stranger snapped his attention to Ben. His shoe tapped the floor.

  “Hiya,” Ben said.

  “Hiya,” he echoed. He tapped faster.

  Ben inched into the room. “You’re from Florida?”

  “Florida.” The man’s body rocked back and forth in the chair, while still tapping and still clinging to the cookie jar.

  “Those are gut cookies, jah?”

  “Jah.” Clenching the jar protectively, the tips of his fingers paled.

  Ben eyed the man’s tapping foot. “How’s your fraa and kinner?”

  Why was Ben asking him about his wife and children? Did he know the man? His face had day-old whiskers and the beginnings
of a mustache, something all Amish districts forbade.

  When the stranger didn’t answer, Ben continued questioning him in Pennsylvania Deitsch.

  “Stop!” The stranger squeezed his eyes shut. “No more voices. No more voices. Tell them to go away.”

  Grace inched closer to Aenti, then took her by the arm and led her over to the sink. “Where’s LeAnn?” she whispered.

  Aenti leaned closer. “Fetching the bishop.”

  “No more voices!” The man’s warning rang out.

  Grace clamped her mouth shut and squeezed Aenti’s arm. She caught a glimpse of Ben, edging closer to them, his hands fisted at his sides.

  “Gordon,” Aenti said in a soft tone. “Would you like me to make you something to eat? I could fry some eggs.”

  His expression softened and he smiled almost childlike and nodded, tossing his matted, unkempt hair.

  “Gut.” Aenti turned to Grace. “I’ll need some meat from the icehaus, and, Ben,” she said, turning to him, “I’ll need you to fetch more wood.”

  The hairs on Grace’s arms stood on end—she wasn’t about to leave her aenti alone with the man. Grace widened her eyes at Aenti Erma, then nodded at the full woodbox beside the stove.

  Aenti Erma nudged Grace’s shoulder. “Please run along, and be sure to show Ben where to find the special wood inside the shed. We’ll need a big armful to get a strong fire going.”

  “Jah . . . okay.” She glanced at the man shoving another cookie into his mouth. At least he hadn’t noticed that the woodbox was full—not yet, anyway.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once outside, Ben grasped Grace’s elbow. “Kumm on, we have to hurry.” Leaving Erma inside the house alone wasn’t wise, but he needed to get Grace as far away as possible. The man might notice the woodbox was full at any moment and go into a rage.

  “Why is he trying to dress like us? He’s nett Amish.”

  “I know.” Ben walked faster. Still guiding her by the elbow, she didn’t resist the increased pace. She turned to glance back, but tripped over a rock. “Careful,” Ben said, steadying her balance. “He might be watching us. We shouldn’t chance drawing attention to ourselves by looking back.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Everything will be all right. I’ll figure something out, but you’ll have to trust me.”

  Lips trembling, she muttered, “Okay,” in a hoarse whisper.

  Once they reached the icehaus, Ben yanked the wooden door open, then, waiting for her to enter, he stole a glimpse of the house. At least the man wasn’t standing at the kitchen window watching them. The fact that he let them both go outside unattended puzzled Ben, but he planned to make the most of the opportunity.

  Ben squeezed inside next to Grace. “Nett much wiggle room in here,” he said.

  She scooted over a few inches, giving him enough room to close the door. The place looked much larger from the outside, but with floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the plastic-covered walls, and the large slabs of ice stacked end to end, space was limited.

  “Usually there isn’t enough room for two people in here,” she said. “Blocks of ice take up most of the room. The men cut slabs of ice out of the nearby lake, then chop it into blocks for the icehauses. Usually by the end of winter, most of the meat has been either eaten or canned and stored in the cellar.” Her lips tightened into a straight line. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be rambling about such nonsense when Aenti is alone with that stranger.” She rubbed her arms.

  “Are you kalt?” He’d never stood inside a freezer before. It was cold enough to see his breath. He moved closer to her, wishing he had the nerve to put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Mei skin is still crawling. Did you see the way he looked at me? He guarded the cookie jar like it was a prized possession.”

  The stranger was creepy all right, but sharing those thoughts wouldn’t help the situation. “I don’t think he’s eaten in a while.” Other than an apple pie from Mattie’s back porch.

  Grace sniffled. “What do you think he wants from us?”

  “I’m nett sure, but we need to assume he’s dangerous.” He kept his tone even. “The day I arrived, I heard a news report that the authorities were searching for someone from the county Behavior Unit.”

  She nodded. “Jah, I remember.”

  “If the man inside is the same person, he’s unstable. He attacked a nurse.”

  Grace’s shoulders shook, and she started to sob.

  He shouldn’t have said anything. Now she was upset and he didn’t know how to comfort her. “Grace,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I know this is hard news, but we have to stay focused. We don’t have much time.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face dry with the back of her hand. She reached up to one of the shelves and pulled down a white, freezer-paper-wrapped package of meat marked Bacon.

  He motioned to a lower shelf that held several tin containers labeled Jerky. “Is there anything in these?”

  Grace handed him the package of bacon, then grabbed a tin container. She popped off the lid. Empty. She checked another canister and discovered it was empty as well. “I know this one had venison jerky in it last week.” Her face paled. “You think he took it, don’t you?”

  Ben nodded.

  “And Mattie’s pie?” She gasped. “Wh-what do we do?” She would hyperventilate if she continued to breathe at this rate. If she passed out, he wouldn’t know what to do.

  “Take a deep breath.” Ben demonstrated. “And blow it out slowly.”

  Following his instructions, Grace breathed in and out. “Why were you staring at his shoes?”

  “They’re mine. The ones I left by the side of the river.”

  “What?” she rasped.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, calmly repeating the statement until the tension disappeared from her face and her breathing returned to normal. “Are there any more containers to check?”

  She wiggled around to his other side, then squatted down next to the shelf to reach a container from the back of the bottom shelf. She shook the can and something thumped inside. “He didn’t find the tin of smoked rabbit meat.” She removed the lid and gathered a bundle of stiff, dried meat.

  “Erma said something about needing special wood. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  “We use kindling in the stove for cooking, but the box was full.”

  “Didn’t she stress ‘special’?”

  “Ach, of course. It’s in the smokehaus.” She reached for the door, but he stopped her from opening it.

  “Let me go first.” He eased the door open and scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He stepped outside with Grace following closely. They hurried across the yard. The smokehaus was even smaller. He couldn’t close the door completely behind them. Rows of galvanized pipes made up the drying rack along the wall. Above them, hooks, some the size of his hand, dangled from a metal rod that spanned the width of the building.

  “The larger hooks are used for hanging bear or deer meat and the smaller ones are for rabbits, chickens, chipmunks—I’m sorry. I’m rambling again.”

  If it kept her mind preoccupied, he would listen to her recite the dictionary. He pulled back a canvas tarp, uncovering a wooden crate.

  “That’s it,” she said.

  He reached into the crate and grasped the twine-tied bundle of lightweight balsam wood. Kindling? Maybe it burned faster. It made sense that Erma would want to feed him fast and hope that he left. The paper-thin wood would certainly catch on fire faster, but it didn’t look like it would burn long enough to cook anything. He eased the door open more and poked his head outside long enough to look around. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Grace, but the officer who gave the news update had mentioned someone else—a person of interest. Ben wished he could remember enough details to know if there were two men on the run or one.

  Ben took the supplies from Grace’s arms. “How’s your leg?”

  Grace s
quared her shoulders, embarrassed that he’d brought up her infirmity. “Fine.”

  “One of us needs to notify the authorities. I can’t leave you and Erma alone with that man.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think you can make it to the Englischers’ farm off the main road?”

  “Aenti Erma sent LeAnn to fetch the bishop.”

  “That’s gut, but the police have to be notified. The man is dangerous.”

  He looked upward. At first, she thought he was eyeing the rafters, then he reached up and removed one of the hooks from the metal rod. He turned it over in his hand. She gulped.

  He tucked it under his straw hat, then placed his hand on her back and nudged her toward the door of the smokehaus. “Once you reach the Englischers’ haus, stay there.”

  “But—”

  “Grace, promise me you’ll stay where it’s safe. I’ll find you when it’s over.”

  When it’s over. So he was expecting something bad to happen. Her eyes welled with tears.

  For a moment, he lowered his head and shifted his feet as though uncomfortable with her crying, then he lifted his head and smiled. “I’ll take you fishing when it’s over.”

  “Fishing?”

  “And I’ll bait your hook.” His expression sobered, and he opened the door wider. “Go quickly.”

  She leaned her head out the opening, glanced at the kitchen window, then, not seeing anyone, darted across the yard. She came to the large willow on the edge of the property and stopped long enough to catch her breath. The shortest route to the main road wasn’t the easiest route by any measure. It meant breaking a new trail through the woods. She whispered a prayer for strength before speeding off without looking back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Please, God, watch over Grace and keep her safe. Ben stood at the door of the smokehaus until Grace was out of sight. He blew out a breath. Sending her to get help was the right thing to do. Now maybe the knot in his stomach would untangle.

  Or maybe not.

  A silhouette, too tall and broad-shouldered for Erma, shadowed the kitchen window. He should have sent Grace earlier and looked for the supplies himself. It would have given her more time. But stalling too long would put Erma in greater danger.