Woodland Miracle (9781401688332)

by Reid, Ruth

  Ben repositioned the package of bacon, the jerky, and the bundle of balsam wood in his arms. The shadowy figure had moved away from the kitchen window. Did it mean he was no longer standing guard? On his way out of the building, he spotted an axe leaning against the chopping block next to the woodshed. He ventured in that direction while keeping his gaze fixed on the house for any suspicious movement. He grabbed the axe by its handle and hurried to the house.

  On the porch, he faltered, axe in hand. It was difficult to assess the situation from outside. He couldn’t risk endangering Erma more. He propped it up against the side of the house next to the window in the sitting room and whispered a prayer that it would go unnoticed.

  He turned the doorknob slowly and eased open the door to keep it from squeaking, but as he went to close it, the man came up behind him, slammed it closed, then grabbed him by the shirt with one hand while clutching the empty cookie jar with the other. The man shoved him into the other room. Ben held his hat in place, but the package of bacon slipped from his grip.

  He thumped Ben’s chest, sending him a few steps backward. “What took you so long?”

  Ben motioned to the package of meat on the floor. “I wanted to bring you the largest package of bacon. I know you’re hungry.” He craned his neck toward the kitchen. Where was Erma?

  The man combed his fingers through his hair and turned in a wide circle. He repeated the action, only this time in the opposite direction. He stepped closer to Ben, aimed his steely gray eyes at him, and shouted, “Stop looking at me!”

  “Sorry.” Ben lowered his head and shuffled a few steps backward when the man wasn’t looking. He was closer to the kitchen, but he didn’t dare turn around.

  The man mumbled to himself and paced the room.

  Footsteps sounded behind Ben and stopped beside him. He glanced sideways without lifting his head and recognized Erma’s dress. She took a few more steps, then stooped down next to the package of bacon and picked it up. “I’ll let you know when the meal is ready.” She turned around. “Ben, I’ll need you to bring the wood into the kitchen.”

  He stole a glimpse of the man still talking to himself as he paced. He didn’t seem to notice Erma enter or leave the room. Ben turned slowly and went into the kitchen.

  He rushed to Erma standing beside the stove. “Are you okay?”

  “Jah, toss the wood pieces into the stove.” She unwrapped the bacon.

  Ben opened the side compartment of the cast-iron stove. Flames shot out at him and he leaned back. “You have a gut fire.”

  “Do as I say, sohn.” She layered the strips of bacon in the fry pan.

  Ben broke the twine binding on the bundle of wood. Feeling a waxy coating on the wood’s surface, he looked at Erma and lifted his brows.

  She nodded. “You’ll want to open the flue all the way.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about woodstoves.”

  “Turn the disc to the right. It’ll create an updraft so the smoke goes out the chimney better.”

  He turned the lever and the metal disc inside the stovepipe flipped.

  “Nau put the wood in.”

  Ben followed her instructions and loaded all the wood that would fit. He placed the other pieces in the woodbox. “I sent Grace to get help,” he whispered.

  “Gut.” She flipped over the sizzling bacon with a fork. “I think he’s eaten too many sweets. He hasn’t stopped pacing and he keeps mumbling something about a buried treasure.”

  “I wondered what he was saying.” Ben tiptoed to the kitchen’s entrance and peeked around the corner. The man was deep in his own world, still talking to himself, still pacing. Ben went back to the stove. “I think we could sneak out without him noticing.”

  A surge of adrenaline kept Grace pushing forward when her leg muscles burned and threatened to seize. She stumbled over a rotted log and scuffed the heels of her hands when she fell. She pushed herself back up. Fire shot through her hip. She pressed her hand against her side and limped forward. “Lord, mei legs ache. I memorized Your Word about Your grace being sufficient for me. I know Your power is made perfect in mei weakness, but Lord, I need strength to finish this journey. I need Your power to dwell in me. Aenti Erma and Ben are relying on me.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, louder and longer. God was near. Peace washed over Grace as another scripture came to mind. Praise the Lord, because He heard my prayer for help. The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust Him, and He helps me.

  Branches snapped. A deer, she told herself. Branches crunched somewhere close. She scanned the surroundings. Nothing. But as the sound grew louder, every fiber in her body charged.

  She sprinted.

  Her labored breaths filled her ears.

  Keep going.

  Her side cramped. She doubled over, clutching her side and panting quick breaths. The stabbing sensations didn’t ease. She screeched in pain.

  A hand smelling of nicotine came from behind, covered her mouth, and slammed her against a man’s chest. He tightened his hold over her mouth and jerked her around to face him.

  He wasn’t the same man—the one who clutched the cookie jar like it was a treasured possession. His breath was a putrid mixture of stale tobacco and poor hygiene, and his clothing smelled sour like a stagnant pond. His unkempt hair had pieces of straw, which led her to believe he’d been sleeping in someone’s barn. She assessed his lanky build. Her brothers could wrestle him to the ground and hog-tie him in seconds. But her brothers weren’t here. Neither was Ben.

  “Help! Hel—” A hard blow to the mouth sent her whirling to the ground. Sprawled out and breathing in the scent of the loamy earth, he planted his knee just under her ribs and pressed hard. At the same time, he clasped his hand over her mouth. Unable to fill her lungs completely, she wheezed for air. Her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal and white spots filled her vision. Was this it? How she would die?

  He released the pressure, stood, then jerked her off the ground. “Where were you going?”

  “To see”—she cleared her throat—“a neighbor. I-I wanted to borrow something.”

  He wrenched her arm behind her back and pushed her forward. “Change of plans.”

  Grace’s vision blurred, but prodded toward the house, she managed to stay one step ahead. After a time, her joints were so swollen, she had to slow down. He shoved her, launching her into a pile of brush.

  “Get up.”

  Her leg muscles quivered and refused to cooperate. “Give me a minute. Please.” She needed time to think. If she could get away, Emery and Susan’s house was close. She would have to cut through the patch of thorny blackberry bushes to go this way, but—but she couldn’t risk subjecting her sister-in-law and nephews to the stranger. Why did the nearest Englischer farm have to be so far away?

  He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and dangled it between his teeth as he struck the match. With his hand cupped to block the wind, he lit the cigarette, then tossed the match over his shoulder. “Get up.” Thick smoke escaped his mouth. “Now!”

  Lord, where are You? Can’t You see that I’m spent?

  Thunder clapped and the sky darkened. A strong breeze swept through the woods. She pushed off the ground and continued the course. If she paced herself, maybe God would give her the opportunity to get away. The man was breathing harder, puffing on the cigarette.

  She came to the path that ran from Mattie’s house to hers and stopped.

  “You should know your way home,” he growled. Apparently, he did too. He pushed her to the right.

  Grace walked several feet before she noticed the faint smoke up ahead. Green. She smiled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ben stood at the kitchen entrance and peeked into the sitting room. The man still clutched the cookie jar and wore a path between the woodstove and the hallway. This was as good a time as any for Erma and him to sneak out the back door. Even if they could only reach the barn, they had a better chance of hiding there than in the house. Ben
moved back into the kitchen. He eased the meat hook out from under his hat, but it slipped from his hand and clanged on the floor in the middle of the entry. Startled, the man turned in jerky movements as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. Ben sucked in a breath and held it. Don’t see it. Look away. The moment the man turned his back, Ben swooped down and snatched the hook from the floor.

  Too close.

  Ben blew out a breath.

  Gordon stomped across the room. Ben hid the hook under his hat just as the man entered the room.

  “Where is she?” Gordon eyed Ben with an icy stare. A tic twitched his cheek and his shoulder jerked up and touched his ear. He narrowed his eyes. “Where”—he repeated the gesture—“is she?”

  “I’m right here.” Erma finished piling the bacon onto the plate. “Are you ready to eat?”

  Quick thinking, Erma. Gordon’s demeanor softened, and he licked his lips, almost childlike.

  “Are your hands clean?”

  Gordon nodded.

  “Sit wherever you’d like,” she said in a perky voice as she indicated the kitchen table.

  Gordon sat at the end of the table. He set the cookie jar in front of him, took one look at Ben, and snatched the container back into his arms.

  Ben lifted his hands in surrender and moved to the opposite side of the room near the window. He leaned against the wall.

  Erma set the plate of food in front of Gordon. He picked up several slices of bacon, jammed them all in his mouth, and chewed.

  Erma cleared her throat, her voice small but firm. “You don’t pray before you eat?”

  He glared at her, then his expression softened. He folded his hands and bowed his head.

  Forgive me, God, if I don’t close mei eyes. Ben pushed off the wall as Gordon’s closed. If he could get Erma’s attention, maybe they could slip out the door.

  “Bless this food.” Gordon rocked back and forth. “And all who partake. Thank You, God, for my baby sister, Marsha, Mommy, and—” His voice broke. He opened tearful eyes and looked at Erma. “They’re dead.” He shoved his plate across the table, knocking over the salt and pepper shakers, sending them off the table.

  Ben lifted his hand to the back of his neck and pretended to scratch it. He could arm himself in less than a second and, if need be, spike the man with the hook.

  “Young man.” Erma planted her fists on her hips.

  Gordon certainly wasn’t a young man. He was fifteen, maybe twenty, years older than Ben. But the man stood from his chair and retrieved the salt and pepper shakers off the floor.

  “Thank you, Gordon.” Erma slid the plate back to its place and pointed at the empty chair. “Now take a seat. I know you’re hungry.”

  Looking at the floor, he shuffled back to the chair and sat. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Of course not.” Erma smiled with motherly reassurance.

  It wouldn’t surprise Ben if she reached out and hugged the man. Not a wise move, but neither was ordering him to pick up the stuff he’d knocked off the table. The man seemed to trust her enough that she could probably drive him to town and walk him into the police station. Ben pondered how he could make that plan work. It would require hitching the horse to the buggy. He wasn’t confident he could figure out that puzzle in a timely manner. Under the circumstances, the man could flip personalities at any moment. No matter how he was responding to Erma, Ben needed to be mindful of what the news reporters had said about the escapee being off his medicine. Erma wasn’t aware he had attacked a nurse either.

  A gust of wind rattled the window, and Ben glanced outside. The room dimmed as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. Behind him, a chair screeched across the floor. Ben looked over his shoulder at Erma resting her hand on the man’s forearm so he didn’t stand.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she told him.

  He rocked faster. “Gordon don’t like storms.”

  Erma tried to soothe his fears by telling him how God used the rain to water her garden and provide for His wild creatures.

  Ben’s thoughts turned to Grace. Had she made it to the Englischers’ house yet?

  Ben caught a glimpse of smoke outside the window. Green smoke? He pushed the curtain back and pressed his face against the window to get a better view. Sure enough, the smoke was green. Growing up in Florida, he knew very little about burning wood. Still, he’d never seen smoke the color of peas.

  Erma cleared her throat. “Ben, you’re likely to fall straight through that glass leaning against it like that.” Her brows lifted and she deliberately widened her eyes. “Close those curtains. Gordon doesn’t want to see the rain.”

  It wasn’t raining, but he did as she instructed. Remembering the waxy substance on the balsam wood, Ben glanced at the woodbox. Grace had said their settlement sent smoke signals to alert one another of a crisis. The women were certainly clever. They not only sent the message without the intruder knowing, but Ben had no idea and he helped carry out the plan.

  The kitchen door swung open and slammed against the wall. Someone pushed Grace inside with such force she catapulted into Ben’s arms. She clung to him, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed.

  The newcomer stormed across the room and cuffed Gordon. “You idiot! You let them build a fire.”

  Gordon cowered like a whipped dog, raising his hands to protect his face. “Gordon’s sorry, don’t hit me, Jack.”

  Jack grabbed Erma’s arm and jerked her off the chair. “Put it out.”

  Erma scurried over to the sink and filled a pot with water.

  “Hurry up!” Jack barked over Erma’s shoulder.

  Water sloshed over the sides of the pot as she carried it to the stove. Ben didn’t want to release Grace, who hadn’t stopped trembling, but Erma needed help. He went to the side of the stove and, using a large potholder, opened the firebox. Heat from the roaring flames baked his face. He took the pot from Erma and tossed the water over the fire. The wood hissed and a mixture of green smoke and steam billowed into the room. Ben turned his face away from the opening and coughed.

  Erma took the empty pot. “I’ll get more water.”

  Ben reached for the fire poker next to the woodbox, but a swift kick to the ribs doubled him over at the waist as sharp pain tore through his side. Feeling his hat slip, he dropped the iron rod and shoved his hat back in place.

  “You’ll think next time before you do something stupid.” Jack grabbed the fire poker and wheeled it up like he was going to strike Ben.

  “Leave him alone!” Grace rushed to his side. “Ben, are you okay?”

  “Jah,” he said, wincing as he spoke. He tried to stand more upright, but a razor-sharp pain stole his breath. He dropped to his knees. Being kicked by Jack’s pointed cowboy boots hurt worse than the time he flipped over the handlebars on his bike and bruised his ribs.

  “Can you get up? Let me help you.” Grace took his hand, but a stronger force fisted his hands around his shirt and reeled him from the floor.

  “You’re not very smart,” Jack said, backhanding him in the face.

  Ben stumbled backward, warm blood oozing from his nose. He caught the edge of the counter and hung on.

  Grace’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ll get you a wet rag.” She opened the drawer, removed a dishcloth, then went to the sink.

  Jack stormed across the room. He snatched her wrist. “I didn’t give you permission.”

  “He’s bleeding.” Grace’s voice trembled.

  Gordon stood. “Jack, you promised not to hurt anyone else. You promised, Jack.”

  Jack spun around to face Gordon. “And what are you going to do about it?” His baleful laughter filled the room. He strutted over to Gordon and pushed him back into the chair. “You were supposed to steal food, not get caught! Now I have to take care of them.”

  Gordon hugged the cookie jar. His eyes blinked with every harsh word Jack barked.

  Jack snatched the jar from his grip and stepped back when Gordon bolted up from the chair. Taller by se
veral inches, Jack dangled the jar above Gordon’s head.

  “My treasure.” Gordon flailed his arms.

  “It’s an old pickle jar.”

  “No, Jack.” Gordon patted his chest. “Gordon’s treasure.”

  Jack flung the jar at the wall. It shattered, sending tiny pieces of glass flying in all directions. “That’s what I should do to your head.”

  Gordon covered his ears and shook his head. Mumbling something in what sounded like a foreign language, he began to pace.

  Grace’s eyes widened with terror. She looked at Ben as if silently pleading for him to give her instructions on what to do. Ben was just as helpless. He wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve, blotting it with blood.

  Jack pressed his hand against Gordon’s chest and stopped him midstep. “Stop pacing. You’re driving me crazy.”

  Continuing to mutter, Gordon pivoted around and left the room. A moment later, the door opened.

  Jack flew out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Your lip is cut open,” Grace said, dabbing a cool dishcloth on Ben’s face.

  Ben winced.

  Grace lifted the cloth. “I’m sorry.” His lip started to bleed again and she blotted it clean. “Do you think they’d leave if we packed up food and supplies for them?”

  Footsteps trumped into the kitchen. “Who said you could talk!”

  Startled, Grace dropped the rag and spun to face Jack. His eyes narrowed as he directed his gaze to each of them. Moving toward Grace, his glare had an unnerving flicker.

  Grace inched backward. Lord, help us.

  His form towered over her and when he leaned toward her, his nose practically touched hers. She gulped. Her stomach wrenched at the stench of his stale tobacco breath. She looked away, but he grabbed her chin and brought her face back in line with his. The man stroked his hand down her cheek. Vomit rose to the back of her throat. Grace backed up until she bumped into Ben.