by Dana Mentink
Lord knew she could use their prayers.
“Yes, we’re all set,” Sarah said. “Thank you for your help.” She dug into her jeans’ pocket and handed the girl payment, payment she could ill afford if she had to remain holed up in Apple Creek much longer like she was some criminal on the run and not the victim that she was. The pastor of the church paid her a modest stipend to work with the youth in the community.
Having sweet Mary Ruth as an assistant was a bridge, however precarious, to the Amish youth, many of whom needed Sarah’s services, but, like their parents, were leery of outsiders. Some kids had found their way to drugs and alcohol—just like the youth she used to work with back in Buffalo—and their peers knew it. Mary Ruth made the first few introductions. From there, word spread. The rumor mill among the teens in Amish country was no less efficient than their texting counterparts in the outside world.
Now, every two weeks, Mary Ruth helped Sarah set up the room and serve as a friendly face to newcomers and repeat visitors alike. The gatherings usually only had four or five members, but even if she only touched one person’s life, it would be worth the effort.
Most Sundays, Mary Ruth then ran off to the Sunday singings. But not this week. This week she had stayed, a part of the group but separate. She seemed intrigued by the choices some of her peers had made, or choices they were courting.
Sarah hoped the youth kept her number one rule: what was said in this room, stayed in this room. She trusted Mary Ruth, but each newcomer was a risk. Despite their age difference, Sarah considered Mary Ruth a friend.
Perhaps her only friend in Apple Creek.
“Do you need my help at all during the week?” Mary Ruth lingered at the stairway leading to the exit.
“Yes, if you’d like. I was going to make a few home visits to young, single mothers in town who might be in need of services.” The women weren’t Amish and often needed help understanding what services were available to them and their babies until they got back on their feet.
“These new mothers really need you, don’t they?” Mary Ruth asked, as if she were just now coming to appreciate Sarah’s work in the community.
“Some of them don’t have anyone else.”
“It’s sad. Their future is uncertain.” Mary Ruth played with the folds in her long dress, its hem brushing the tops of her black boots.
The irony that Sarah’s future was probably the most precarious of them all was not lost on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“I admire the work you do. Sometimes I wish Amish women could be independent like you.”
Independent. Sarah outwardly appeared independent, but on the inside she was a trembling mess. “How old are you, Mary Ruth?”
“Eighteen?” Her answer sounded more like a question.
“Ah, you have your whole life in front of you.”
“A life that has already been planned out.” There was a faraway quality to her voice. “Most of my friends are hoping to get married soon.”
“And you?”
Mary Ruth hitched a shoulder and her cheeks turned pink. The Amish didn’t talk much about dating and courtship, at least not to her. Some successfully hid their wedding plans until the church published their engagement announcement only weeks before their actual wedding.
Sarah did know that Mary Ruth had been spending time with a young Amish man, Ruben Zook, who lived next door to the cottage Sarah rented. But she didn’t dare inquire about Mary Ruth’s plans, respecting the Amish ways.
Sarah waved her hand. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Guten nacht,” Mary Ruth said, in a singsong voice as she climbed the stairs, her mood seeming to lift. She very rarely spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to Sarah, except for when she said good-night. Sarah was still smiling when the outside door opened with a creak and then slammed shut.
Unease whispered at the back of Sarah’s neck as a pronounced silence settled across the room. Her plan to sit at her desk in her tiny basement office and make notes no longer seemed like a smart idea. It had been a habit during her years of working in Buffalo. Make notes immediately so that one patient didn’t blend in with the next. However, here in Apple Creek, her workload was lighter and she had no distractions at home.
Here, she didn’t have a boyfriend pestering her to know what she was doing every minute of every day. Nor did she have to worry that she’d inadvertently provide the wrong answer. An answer that would send him into a blind rage.
Icy dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. How did I allow myself to get tangled up with Jimmy Braeden? She had always considered herself a smart girl.
Even smart girls made bad choices sometimes.
Letting out a long breath and wishing she could silence all the doubts and worries in her head, Sarah gathered up her papers and jammed them into her bag with shaky hands. She hated that Jimmy had made her afraid. Made her hide. Made her into someone even she couldn’t heal.
A shadow crossed the basement floor and Sarah glanced up at the narrow windows that faced the church parking lot. Nothing. Just the fading blue sky, which made her realize if she didn’t hurry, she’d have to walk the mile home in the dark.
Sure, Jimmy didn’t know where she was. She hoped. But that didn’t mean it was wise to tempt fate as a single woman alone after dark on a deserted country road.
Sarah hoisted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and flipped off the light switch at the bottom of the stairs when a crashing sound exploded, disrupting the quiet night air. Shards of glass rained down over her head.
Sarah bit back a yelp and flattened herself against the wall of the basement under the broken window. Her pulse beat wildly in her ears as she fumbled in her bag. She was searching for a cell phone, when she remembered she didn’t have one. It was one of the many things she had given up when she decided to disappear.
A cell phone was too easy to trace.
Sarah gingerly touched her head and her fingers came back sticky. She closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer: Dear Lord, please protect me. If there was one thing she clung to through her turned-upside-down life, it was her faith. One constant in a crazy world.
Biting her lip, she glanced toward the stairs. Toward the exit. The unlocked door. Dread knotted her stomach. She stood, frozen, until her heart rate returned to normal. Almost. She figured her nerves wouldn’t truly settle until she was safely at home, locked inside.
Her gaze landed on a large rock in the center of the room. Good thing she hadn’t been struck by that or she might be unconscious.
Sarah couldn’t stand here forever. She took a hesitant step toward the stairs.
Was someone waiting for her outside?
With a burst of courage—the same courage that had her leave her abusive ex—Sarah bolted up the stairs, clinging to her bag as if it could protect her. She pushed the door open and the still night air greeted her. Without a backward glance, she bolted as fast as her legs would carry her across the wide expanse of the parking lot to the pastor’s house on the opposite side.
She pounded up the porch steps and lifted her fist and hammered on the door, immediately taking her back to another day, another time, when her boyfriend was chasing her. Promising he’d kill her if he caught her. Swallowing her dizzying panic, she glanced over her shoulder.
No one was chasing her now.
Just the shadows. And the haunting memories that refused to leave her alone.
* * *
When Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings pulled up in front of the Apple Creek Diner, he had only two things on his mind: coffee and Flo’s pie. His stomach growled as he considered his options. He was in the mood for some banana cream. As he pulled the door’s release, his radio crackled to life. He listened intently, frowning when he heard there had been an incident at the church. Flo’s pie wou
ld have to wait.
“I’m at the Apple Creek Diner,” he said into the radio. “I can be at the church in three minutes.” Nick flipped on the lights and pressed his foot to the floor, not necessary since he was only a few minutes out, but he missed the occasional adrenaline surge. Policing small-town Apple Creek didn’t provide the same rush as serving in the army in times of war.
Not that he wanted to go back to war.
“The victim, a Miss Sarah Lynn, is at the pastor’s residence,” the dispatcher said. “The pastor’s wife claims she’s pretty shaken up.”
Sarah Lynn? The name didn’t register.
Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and as promised, made it to the parking lot of the church in under three minutes. Dusk had cloaked the area in the first hint of shadows, and his headlights arched across two people standing on the pastor’s stoop. One was Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, the other was a petite woman he had noticed around town. That must be Sarah Lynn.
Nick had only been back in Apple Creek for a few months himself when this young woman arrived. Residents of a small town tended to notice new arrivals, even if they weren’t petite and pretty, which this one certainly was. Flo at the diner, who had a habit of trying to fix him up, mentioned that this woman seemed to keep to herself most of the time, hadn’t even offered up her name. A few speculated on why she had suddenly shown up in town—employment, low rent or maybe she was hiding from something—but mostly the residents of Apple Creek let her be. Nick assumed she probably did have her share of secrets. Having come off a bad breakup with a woman who was a master secret keeper, Nick figured he’d pass.
Nick climbed out of his cruiser and strode toward the pastor’s neat, white-sided home. He tipped his hat toward the women. “Hello, Miss Ellinor.” He thought it best if he waited for the young woman to introduce herself. That’s when he noticed she was doing more than touching her forehead, she was holding a cloth to it.
“Are you injured?”
“I’m fine. My name is Sarah. Sarah Lynn...” The corners of her mouth turned down and the woman seemed to be studying her shoes. This woman was either afraid or hiding something. Perhaps both.
Apparently the residents of Apple Creek were collectively a pretty good judge of character.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings. What happened here?”
Sarah shook her head, but it was Miss Ellinor who spoke first. “Someone smashed one of the basement windows of the church. I’m afraid Sarah has a pretty deep cut on her forehead. You’ll probably have to call an ambulance. Is an ambulance coming?”
Sarah held up her hand, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.” Her voice shook. She didn’t sound fine.
“May I take a look?” Nick stepped toward Sarah and she took a half step back, hemmed in by the front door of the pastor’s home behind her.
Sarah dropped her hand and her long hair fell over the wound. She stared up at him with a look of defiance, although he may have misinterpreted the emotion in the dim lighting.
Nick held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “I don’t need to look at it, but someone should.”
“I’m fine, really.” Sarah’s repeated use of the word fine seemed forced. She bent and picked up a heavy-looking bag. When she straightened, all the color drained from her face. If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have seen the terror that flashed across her pretty features and then disappeared into the firm set of her mouth and her narrowed gaze.
He wasn’t going to have her pass out on his watch. “Let me drive you to the hospital. Have someone take a look at that cut.”
Sarah pressed the wadded-up paper towel to her forehead and frowned. “I’m fine, really.” There was that word again. “I just want to go home.”
Miss Ellinor’s features grew pinched. “Child, I know you like to put on a brave face, but if you don’t get that cut checked out, you’re going to end up with a big scar on your forehead. It would be a shame to mar that pretty face of yours. Wouldn’t you agree, Deputy Jennings?”
Nick felt a corner of his mouth tugging into a grin, despite suspecting his amusement might annoy the young woman. Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, was a chatty soul who said whatever was on her mind. Being a woman of a certain age and position, no one seemed to call her on it. “A scar on that pretty face would be a shame.”
Sarah squared her shoulders, apparently unsure of how to take his compliment.
Nick tipped his head toward his patrol vehicle. “I’ll take you to the emergency room.”
“Is this really necessary?” Sarah skirted past him and clearly had no intention of getting into his car.
“Would you rather I call an ambulance?”
Sarah sighed heavily. “I do not need an ambulance.”
Nick decided to change his line of questioning. “Any idea who might have tossed a rock through the window?”
Miss Ellinor shook her head. “Bored kids causing trouble, I suppose.”
Nick thought he noticed Sarah blanch. “I’m a social worker, and every other Sunday, to coincide with the Amish Sunday-night singings, I run a group meeting for Amish youth who may have alcohol or drug issues. Or other concerns.”
“Really?”
Sarah slowly turned, her sneaker pivoting on the gravel. “Is there something wrong with that? This community is an underserved area. For some Amish youth, the years leading up to their baptism can be stressful. It’s a huge decision, which can lead to unhealthy behaviors to deal with stress. Because of their insular life, they are often ill equipped to handle the temptation of drugs and alcohol.” Despite the cool bite to her tone, she sounded rehearsed, like she was reading from a brochure.
“No, ma’am. I didn’t mean to imply that what you’re doing is wrong. Do you have reason to believe someone from your meeting tonight took issue with you? Or something that was said?”
Sarah adjusted the paper towel on her forehead. “I’m a social worker. Unfortunately, being...” she seemed to be searching for the right word “...harassed on occasion is one of the challenges of the job.” She cut her gaze toward him, making a show of running her eyes the length of his deputy sheriff’s uniform. “You can understand that.” Unfortunately, in today’s climate, he could.
“I’m issued a gun. What do you have for protection?” His pulse ticked in his jaw, anger growing in his gut. If some punk was messing with a social worker who was trying to help him, Nick would have to set him straight.
“Oh my, we’ve never had trouble here before.” Miss Ellinor’s hands fluttered at the collar of her floral shirt. Her white hair seemed to glow under the bright porch light.
Sarah reached for Miss Ellinor’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun. And,” she said, lowering her voice, “I don’t think someone would be receptive to my help if I had a gun strapped to my body.”
“Any self-defense classes then?” Nick didn’t understand why he was so interested in this woman. He was here to answer a call about a broken window. See that she receive medical attention. That’s it.
“I took a few self-defense classes back when I was in college. But, I do my best to avoid conflict. Beats getting my head trapped in a headlock.” Half her mouth quirked up. Nick could tell she was trying to defuse the situation with humor, but what happened here tonight wasn’t funny.
Sarah cleared her throat and pulled the paper towel away from her forehead and suddenly seemed impatient to leave.
“Wait by the vehicle. I need to check out the broken window. I won’t be but a minute.”
Sarah nodded.
“Make sure she gets that cut looked at, Nick,” Miss Ellinor hollered after him.
He waved and smiled. “Sure thing.” He had a feeling that was going to be a difficult promise to keep.
Nick checked out the broken window, then went inside and assessed the damage. A large rock sat in the middle of the room. Punks.
When he returned to his vehicle, he found Sarah standing alone. “Miss Ellinor had to go in. She’s babysitting her granddaughter. The pastor’s not home. I told her I’d clean up the mess tomorrow.”
Nick nodded, but didn’t say anything. Sarah looked tiny standing next to his cruiser, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other arm wrapped around her middle. A large bag resting on her hip. He opened his passenger door and she cut him a cynical gaze. “Not going to make me ride in the back?”
“Are you a criminal?” He arched an eyebrow.
Without answering, she slipped into his car. “I’m not going to the hospital. You can take me directly home.”
Despite Sarah’s firm tone, her hands shook under the dome light as she fastened her seatbelt. She looked like a deer frozen in headlights, uncertain if safety existed a few steps away or if annihilation under the massive weight of an eighteen wheeler bearing down on her was inevitable.
* * *
The familiar sight of the interior of the patrol vehicle, with all its lights, displays and gadgets made Sarah suck in a breath, only to inhale the distinct police-car smell: part antiseptic, part vinyl, part whoever had been transported in the backseat. And the crackle of the radio sent Sarah reeling back to another time.
Sarah threaded her trembling hands, trying to maintain her composure. Trying to stay in the here and now. I will not have a panic attack. I will not give this man a reason to question me any more than he already has. I can do this.
Breathe...
“Any idea which of your clients could have thrown a rock through the church window? Anyone particularly angry or rude this evening?”
Sarah shook her head, not trusting her voice. “I’d just be guessing.” Or lying. Did she really believe it was one of the Amish men or women from her meeting tonight? “If you don’t mind, I’m tired. Can you please take me home?”
“I promised Miss Ellinor I’d get that cut on your head looked after. I’m not a man who goes back on a promise.”
