“Please,” Rachel gasped. “Please don’t.”
If they tied her up, she was afraid she would die from whatever was happening to her body and her unborn child.
“Sorry, sweetie.” Greta approached her with a length of rope. “But he gets real mad if I don’t do what he says.”
“Don’t do it,” Rachel said. “Please. I’m pregnant!”
“I gotta,” Greta said, beginning the process. “Like I said, he gets mad.”
Rachel tried to fight as the other woman began to tie her hands, but the cramps were coming on hard and strong now and she could no longer stand up. Her knees buckled.
“Now hold still, honey. Don’t make this difficult.”
“I need a doctor,” Rachel said. “Call an ambulance. Please, Greta. I won’t press charges about the abduction and you won’t face jail time if you’ll just call an ambulance for me. Whatever you do, don’t tie me up.”
Before Greta could completely immobilize her, Rachel heard a voice.
“Leave her alone.”
Rachel vaguely heard a gruff male voice through the blue-like pain she was experiencing. After she got through the next cramp, Rachel glanced up and saw Carl standing over her.
“And who are you, old man? Her grandfather?” Frustration and anger laced Junior’s voice.
“Me? I’m the man who murdered her father.” Carl stood with his fists clenched. “And I’m only going to warn you once…leave this woman alone. She’s been through enough.”
Rachel heard the sheer fury in Carl’s voice as he shielded her from Junior and Greta with his own body.
“You are warning me?” Junior, a big man in the prime of his life, started laughing. “What could you possibly do to me?”
Rachel, lay on the ground, her body convulsing. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled as she tried to keep from screaming out in pain and fear.
She could hear Ezra sobbing, calling her name, begging Junior not to hurt her.
Then she heard a low whistle, and suddenly a heavy body exploded out of the woods and flew past her. She felt a moment of hope as she saw Carl’s dog running as silently as his name and as deadly as a bullet, straight at Junior.
“Don’t!” Carl yelled, as Junior raised the gun.
But then the Glock fired and caught the beautiful dog in midflight as he leaped. Shadow yelped in pain and fell to the ground. Carl roared with anger and went after Junior, who stood his ground with the gun now pointed at Carl.
That was when she knew that her father’s killer was going to die, and in spite of her own fear and pain, she suddenly and desperately wanted him to live.
Chapter 62
Darren skidded into the parking lot. The lights were on in the church. Joe jumped out of the car before it came to a full stop, ran up the church steps, and pounded on the door.
George opened it.
“Where’s Rachel?” Joe said. “She said she was coming here. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Are you Joe?”
“Yes.”
“We found Bobby. Your son managed to escape. He’s asleep in my office.”
“My boy escaped?” Joe said. “Oh, thank God! Is he hurt in any way?”
“He was dirty, scared, and hungry when we got him, but he’s not hurt.”
“Where’s Rachel?”
“She was planning to check out the house where Bobby was held. Ezra’s still there.”
“Is she alone, or did she call for backup?”
“Carl and his dog are with her. I don’t know if she called anyone else.”
“Show me where they are.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to leave the boy alone.”
“Darren! Come here and stay with Bobby,” Joe called as he strode across the parking lot. “George, get into the truck.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks to the trail,” George volunteered, as he did what Joe said. “We could easily…”
His speech was cut short as Joe pressed the gas pedal and George’s head was thrown back against the headrest.
“I know where the trail is,” Joe said between gritted teeth. “And I don’t intend to walk.”
Joe swerved around the concrete barriers at the trailhead and drove straight onto the wide trail. He knew there was a rule against motorized vehicles on the trail, but right now Joe didn’t care. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it kept getting stronger. His child was safe, praise God, but he had to get to Rachel. Something was wrong and he had to get to Rachel.
“Tell me when to stop,” Joe said.
George looked out the passenger window for a few moments and then suddenly pointed to a gnarled oak tree on the right. “There! I remember that tree.”
Joe stopped the truck and cut the lights. Then he and George got out of the truck and quietly and quickly made their way into the woods. The moon illuminated their path as George led him in the direction that Carl and Rachel had gone.
After a few moments, George knelt down and whispered, “There it is.”
Joe dropped to his knees beside George and took in the scene. Directly in front of them was a farmhouse—and for a moment, Joe couldn’t accept what he was seeing. Then it came became crystal-clear. The figure writhing on the ground was Rachel. Carl stood in front of her, talking to a man who was holding a gun. Ezra was crying and trying to get away from a woman who was holding him.
They heard a low whistle just as Joe started to charge in, but George held him back. “Look!”
A large, dark brown dog burst out of the woods and ran straight at the man who was holding a gun on Carl. There was a gun blast, and the dog crumpled mid-leap.
Joe’s fingers dug deep into the dirt as he watched that courageous dog collapse.
In prison, in order to survive, Carl kept his anger carefully bottled up. He knew how to protect himself if necessary, but he didn’t pick fights. He didn’t make friends, and he tried not to make enemies—but in the depths of all that carefulness, his anger simmered.
When he got out, he kept the fires of his anger carefully stuffed deep, deep down as he tried to stitch together what shreds of life he still had left. He spoke softly and kindly to the patients who came to Doc Peggy’s clinic. He made sure to have patience with the bumbling young staff members Peggy hired. He held back sharp words when he saw gum wrappers carelessly tossed onto the carpeted floor of the church auditorium he carefully maintained. If he was going to stay out of prison, it was imperative that he never, ever let his anger show.
Until now.
Now, with his beloved dog bleeding out on the ground, he no longer cared about restraining his volatile emotions. The rage Carl felt came out with a primal scream, and he charged Junior.
Junior raised the gun and pointed it at him.
Carl didn’t care.
Then suddenly Junior’s face took on a look of great surprise. His eyes rolled back in his head, the gun fell out of his hand, and he crumbled to the ground.
Carl stumbled to a stop, confused. Then he recognized a famous baseball player striding out of the woods and rubbing his right shoulder. Carl glanced down at Junior, lying unconscious on the ground, and understood. A rock the size of a fist lay before him.
“Good throw, Micah!” Then Carl remembered why he was angry, and he began searching frantically for the bullet wound in his dog, trying to stop the bleeding. “Good boy, Shadow. You are such a good boy! We’ll get you to Doctor Peggy. She’ll take care of you.”
Meanwhile, Joe knelt and lifted Rachel into a sitting position. “Talk to me. Tell me what to do.”
“I think I’m losing our baby, Joe,” she said. “Call an ambulance.”
“I already called 911,” George said beside them.
A faint ambulance siren doubled and grew stronger. Suddenly two ambulances and three police cars pulled into the driveway.
“The bullet penetrated Shadow’s chest area,” Carl fretted. “I need to get him to the clinic. If I can get him to Peggy, she migh
t be able to save him.”
EMTs approached the group, bringing a gurney.
“This is my wife,” Joe said. “She’s nearly five months pregnant. She thinks she’s losing the baby. Please be careful.”
As he helped them put her onto the gurney, Rachel seemed to fixate on Shadow and Carl.
“Is Shadow alive?” she asked, peering over Joe’s shoulder.
“So far, but Carl needs to get him to the clinic.”
“Take him in the other ambulance.”
“Of course,” the EMT said. “We’ll get the unconscious gentleman into the second ambulance just as soon as we take care of you.”
“Not the man, the dog,” Rachel said. “Get Shadow to Doctor Peggy Oglesby’s clinic.”
“We can’t do that, ma’am. It isn’t allowed.”
“My wife is Officer Rachel Mattias from the Sugarcreek Police,” Joe said. “If she says to transport the dog to the animal clinic, you’d probably better listen to her.”
“That dog is a valuable asset.” Rachel stopped speaking and panted for a moment as another spasm hit and passed. “I’ll take responsibility.”
Carl was surprised but grateful when they loaded Shadow into the ambulance.
“Where’s Ezra?” Rachel asked as they rolled her away.
“George is with him. They are talking with one of the cops,” Carl said. “Greta took off on foot when Joe knocked out Junior. It won’t take them long to chase her down.”
As Carl and his dog were being driven away from the scene, he saw Junior sit up and shake his head as though to clear it, and then the Millersburg Police helped him to his feet and cuffed him.
Chapter 63
Two days later, Naomi drove her buggy over to Rachel’s. When Rachel opened the door to the knock, she saw that Naomi was carrying a large bag.
“I heard you were out of the hospital,” Naomi said. “Are you feeling better?”
Rachel shrugged. She was no longer in pain, but better? Not really.
“I brought you something.” Naomi pulled a pot out of the bag. “It is your favorite—my chicken noodle soup. It is still warm. May I put it in the kitchen?”
“Of course.”
Rachel did not follow her friend into the kitchen. Luke’s words the night of the kidnapping about her and her son still stung. She hoped Naomi did not intend to stay long.
“Thank you,” Rachel said, when Naomi finished her small errand and came back into the living room. “I’m sure Joe and Bobby will appreciate it.”
Rachel did not offer Naomi a seat. There was a stiff politeness between them. The easy friendship they had once enjoyed was gone.
“How is Bobby?” Naomi asked.
“He’s fine. How is Ezra?”
“He misses Bobby.”
Rachel said nothing. Bobby would not be going to their home. He was not wanted.
Naomi sighed. “Luke said bitter and angry things the night the boys were stolen. I know he hurt you, but he was speaking from pain and weakness and frustration over his inability to protect our son. He needed to blame someone for what had happened, and harsh words came out of his mouth.”
“He was just saying what he felt, Naomi,” Rachel said. “I don’t blame him for that.”
“I want you to know that Bobby has never been a bad influence on our Ezra. Ever. Quite the opposite. Luke’s illness has been hard on our son. It has turned him into a worried child, much too quiet and careful—except when Bobby comes over. Your son is boisterous and bright and he takes Ezra’s mind off his father’s illness. When Bobby is there, Ezra plays like a little boy should play.”
“I wish you would have said all that at the time,” Rachel said. “It was hard to hear my son criticized at a time when I didn’t know if I would ever see him again.”
“You have lived among us long enough to know that a good Amish wife never criticizes or corrects her husband in front of others, Rachel.”
“True.”
“Luke asked me to tell you that he is sorry and to thank you for all you did. He also wanted me to ask whether Bobby could come over soon to play with Ezra.”
Rachel had nothing to say to that. Apologies were all well and good, but Luke had meant what he said that terrible night. She had no intention of allowing Bobby to go there anytime soon.
“Ezra speaks of nothing else except how brave your son was. And how unafraid Bobby was in standing up to the man and woman who took them. He will be devastated if he cannot have his friend come to play.”
“I’m just not comfortable with it, Naomi. I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” Naomi reached into the bag she had brought and pulled out an old quilt. “Do you remember this?”
“It’s the one your grandmother made for you before you were born.”
“Do you remember when we got the mumps at the same time?” Naomi said. “Bertha offered to nurse both of us through it. My mother had a houseful of children and didn’t argue. When my mother packed my things, she put my favorite quilt in as well. You and I lay in the bed together beneath that quilt. We were feverish and miserable, but your aunt took good care of us.”
“Bertha was a wonderful nurse.” Rachel wished Naomi would make her point and go. She had been through too much the past few days.
“When we started getting better,” Naomi continued, “you said it was because of the quilt. You said my grandmother had made a magic quilt that could heal people.”
Rachel smiled. That was a lifetime ago, when she and Naomi were little girls and as close as sisters.
“It has been mended many times,” Naomi continued. She stroked the faded blue-and-white fabric she held in her arms. “As battered as it is, it is still my favorite. When I am ill or sad, I curl up beneath it and pretend that it is a medicinal quilt. I pretend that it can heal people’s bodies and minds. It’s a childish thing for a grown woman to do, of course. I’ve never told anybody else.”
Rachel reached over and fingered the old quilt stitched so carefully by Naomi’s loving grandmother. “Your grandmother put a lot of love into this quilt. I’m sure that alone gives it some healing qualities.”
“I’m so glad you said that. Here.” She placed the folded quilt in Rachel’s arms. “I want you to have it. It is a gift.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Please. I was praying it might heal our friendship.”
Rachel held the quilt against her heart that ached so badly. “I lost the baby, Naomi.”
“I know.” Tears threatened to spill from her friend’s kind blue eyes. “I am so sorry. I came here hoping it would help you to talk about it.”
“Let’s sit,” Rachel said. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Rachel went over to the couch, put her stocking feet on the coffee table, and pulled the quilt over her. It did feel comforting.
Naomi seemed unsure of where to sit.
Rachel lifted one side of the quilt. “I’ll share.”
“Oh! I would very much like to share!” Naomi came over, sat close to Rachel, and pulled part of the quilt over herself. Then she toed off her shoes and put her stocking feet on the coffee table beside Rachel’s.
“Joe and I are going to have a funeral for the baby tomorrow,” Rachel said. “It hurts so badly, Naomi.”
“And all this pain and loss because of Luke’s behavior when he was young and foolish, and the bad things that came of it. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “So am I.”
With their shoulders touching and the old, soft quilt pulled up to their chins, the healing between the women began.
Chapter 64
Joe enjoyed hearing the laughter and the camaraderie on opening night. It didn’t feel as much like work as like a good party with people that he cared about.
It tickled him to look over his shoulder and see Lydia smiling and enjoying people while they sampled her pies, as she stood there in her little Amish dress, bonnet, and sensible black tennis shoes—with her new o
versized baseball jersey overtop. Darren had had her name printed in block letters on the back above Joe’s old team number. Joe hadn’t expected her to be such a good sport about it, but the older woman still had some surprises about her.
His son was strutting around in his own miniature baseball uniform. Darren had special-ordered it for him just for opening night, along with blue-and-white jerseys in the colors of the LA Dodgers for the others. Rachel was wearing her jersey as well and looked adorable in it as she bussed tables. Across the front of all the jerseys read “Joe’s Home Plate,” and Joe’s number 73 was displayed on the back.
It was crowded in the restaurant not only because it was opening night, but because they’d tried to make room for people to enjoy lots of samples. Small meatballs made up of five different recipes Joe had developed for his hamburgers, along with various sauces to dip them in, were set out. People could choose their favorite combination that way. There were small plastic cups of potato salad and baked beans, and Aunt Lydia was distributing tiny slices of her pies.
Even Anna had a job. Concentrating hard, she placed a small plastic fork beside each slice of pie Lydia handed out.
To Joe’s astonishment, his brother’s idea of opening Joe’s Home Plate maybe wasn’t such a bad idea. All he knew for sure was that he and Darren would work hard to make it a success.
The last few weeks, as he and Darren fought to get all the equipment they needed and learned the ins and outs of opening a new restaurant, their relationship had deepened. His kid brother was actually turning out to be a pretty good businessman. He had never expected to be proud of his brother, given Darren’s track record, but tonight had been an eye-opener.
Darren presided over the boutique soda “bar,” giving out samples like he was offering fine wines. At one point, Joe heard laughter and Darren saying, “This one is a presumptuous little soda with overtures of green apple. I believe the vintage is about two weeks ago.”
Lydia’s pies, displayed in an old-fashioned circular display case left over from the original restaurant, were a huge hit. She was in her element. Joe watched her trying to accept all the compliments with admirable Amish humility—but her eyes sparkled with each “Danke” she uttered. He thought she was adorable.
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