by Ruth Reid
“I have to find him,” she said over her shoulder.
Ben sped up beside her on the trail. “If he came to the river, wouldn’t he be with his friends?”
“That’s what I’m worried about. I think he might have tried to cross.” The runoff from the melted snow had softened the ground and the heel of her shoe sank into the spongy earth. She jerked her foot free. The ground was this soft the year the sinkhole opened. Mitch had probably overheard some of the women comparing how similar the wet seasons were.
“Why would he?” Toby asked, trailing behind.
“He overhead the discussion about the men last nacht and was upset. He thought someone should search for them.” Apparently, the talk she and Mitch had in the barn hadn’t helped. She should have recognized her nephew’s determination and kept a closer eye on him. Even her brothers, Peter and Emery, the best swimmers she knew, would be hard-pressed to make it across. The high water level and turbulent flow would cast anyone downstream.
Several feet ahead, a grouse rose from the dense brush, flapping its wings wildly. Toby and Ben paused, their eyes following the bird until it landed on a nearby beechnut branch. It wasn’t uncommon to kick up game along this path. As the underbrush along the riverbank became thicker, the trail led them farther away from the water and deeper into the woods. She stepped over a fallen limb.
Tree branches snapped in the distance.
More birds jetted up from the bushes.
Grace halted. This time, something—or someone—else had spooked the wildlife. “Mitch?” she yelled.
No answer.
She scanned the wooded area. “Mitch?” she said louder, cupping her hand to her mouth.
Toby and Ben echoed her call.
Silence.
“Why do I get the feeling that someone is watching us?” Toby asked, gripping the fishing rod like a weapon.
Ben guffawed. “How much protection do you think that pole will give you?”
Toby said something about how jumpy Ben was when two squirrels scurried up a nearby tree, but Grace ignored the banter and focused on her search.
The area had changed since she was here last. Nothing looked familiar. Maybe this wasn’t the right direction. But it wasn’t long before the trail led them back to the river and they came upon the old watermill. The dilapidated building’s cedar-shake exterior was barely visible with the overgrown vines covering it.
Ben lowered the fishing rod to the ground. “Let’s check it out,” he said to Toby, who was already walking toward the structure.
Toby took a few steps and stopped. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you coming?”
Grace shook her head. She hadn’t been to the mill in years and it wasn’t a place she wanted to revisit.
Toby and Ben disappeared behind the building on the side facing the river.
Grace planted her hands on her hips and stared at a boarded-up window. “Mitchell Wagler. If you’re in there, you better kumm out. Nau.” She eyed a section of wall where the bottom of a board had rotted. When nothing moved, her hope deflated. Mitch wasn’t there or he would have responded.
A moment later, the tall cattail weeds between the building and the river moved. Ben. He climbed up the rocky embankment and removed something he’d tucked behind his suspender.
“I found this.” He held up a browning apple core.
Grace gulped a mouthful of air.
Ben turned it over in his hand. “It can’t be too old or it would have degraded.”
“Or an animal would have eaten it,” Toby said, coming up behind Ben.
“He’s been here recently.” Grace peered up at the sky and closed her eyes. Lord, please watch over and protect him. Let it be Your will that he’s all right.
Ben cleared his throat. “We checked the building. There’s only one door on the lower level nett boarded up, but it’s stuck. He wouldn’t have enough strength to pull it open either.”
Grace nodded. “Will you show me where you found the core, please?”
“This way,” Ben said, motioning toward the river.
The apple cores they’d found at the buggy and now this one didn’t make sense. Mitch had eaten a large breakfast before racing out of the house. She followed Ben around the side of the building and stopped at the edge of the embankment. The rocky slope was steeper than she remembered. She focused on the massive wooden wheel that years ago generated the power to run the equipment. Now many of its paddles were missing. Loose stones cascaded several feet down and plopped into the water. Her mouth dried. Her ears rang. A wave of nausea washed over her as her vision doubled and she stumbled backward.
The only time Ben had seen someone’s face turn as white as Grace’s was seconds before the seasick crew member leaned over the side of the boat and vomited. She wobbled backward, and he caught her elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Jah.”
“Sure? Your eyes are closed,” he said.
“I will be.” Her shoulders lifted and fell as she breathed. Her dark lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. Her big, brown—river-colored—eyes.
“I, ah . . . I thought you were about to fall.” He released her elbow and motioned to the sandy shore. “I found the apple down there.”
Her eyes glazed. She used the corner of her sleeve to wipe at them.
“Maybe the apple wasn’t his,” Toby said in a soothing tone.
“I bought a bag of apples in town yesterday and they disappeared from the buggy.” Her lips trembled. “We need to go back and get help.”
Ben didn’t need to hear any more. After seeing her eyes water, he couldn’t tell her he’d seen footprints in the sand. He started down the embankment, the ground crumbling under his feet. Once he landed on solid ground, he unlaced his shoes and kicked them off.
“Are you going to cross the river?” Toby asked.
“I swim a lot better than you do.” Someone needed to go after the boy. He removed his socks. The cold ground should have clued him in on what to expect, but his legs turned numb in the water almost immediately. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and took another step. Only the bottom of the river dropped from under him. The chest-deep current beat against him, bending him like a reed. His foot slipped on a moss-covered rock and the rushing water swept him under. He bobbed up to the surface, sucked in a breath, and was pulled back under.
Kick.
Kick.
His arms and legs were like sandbags. Heavy. Numb.
Shuttled downstream in a spiral, he couldn’t be certain which direction he needed to swim. He turned his face in the direction of his name being called just before his head hit something hard.
Chapter Ten
Grace gasped when Ben plunged underwater. Seconds later, he resurfaced a few feet downstream, coughing like he’d taken water into his lungs.
“We have to help him!” Toby shouted. “Bring the fishing pole.” He sprinted along the riverbank.
Grace grabbed the pole from where Ben had left it on the ground and raced to catch up with Toby. She hadn’t quite reached him when Toby yelled his friend’s name.
Ben’s body slammed up against a dead tree and he grabbed onto a branch.
“Hang on!” Pole in hand, Toby slid down the sandy embankment, landing at the edge of the water. He scrambled to his feet. “I don’t see him. Can you see him from up there?”
“Nay.” The limb was missing at the spot where he’d grabbed onto the tree. Had the current pulled him under? Ach, Lord, keep him from getting snagged on a branch underwater.
“Do you see him yet?” Toby paced the shoreline.
“Nay.” She should have kept her eye on Ben instead of watching to see if Toby had made it down the steep embankment safely. Now they’d lost Ben. Oh, Lord, please . . . please help him.
A short distance downstream, she caught a glimpse of Ben’s blue shirt. “There,” she said, pointing. “I see him.” This time she kept her eyes on Ben rather than on Toby scaling the incline.
&
nbsp; “Oh nay,” Toby cried out as he slid on his belly down the slope. He landed with a thump and was showered by falling rocks, but somehow he’d managed to grasp his ankle, then roll to his side.
“Are you okay?”
“Jah,” he said through gritted teeth. He motioned toward Ben’s body, floating downstream. “Follow him. I’ll catch up.”
She hesitated a half second, then sped off. Ben was heading toward one of the widest and deepest parts of the river. The water turned almost black in some spots. She pushed herself to run faster despite how badly her lungs burned.
Up ahead, Ben slammed into a beaver’s dam.
Almost there. Don’t let go, Ben.
She tossed the pole over the side of the cliff. Time spent at the river as a child taught her to sit down and scoot to the bottom, but this section was steeper and rockier than any of the areas where she’d played. She eased downward. Her heel snagged on a root midway down. She tried to jerk her foot free, but in doing so, she lost her balance and toppled to the bottom.
“Grace?” Ben’s faint voice didn’t carry past his mouth. She’d taken a hard fall and he couldn’t help. He’d lost feeling in his legs, either from injury or hypothermia, but he tried to pull himself up higher on the dam. The network of sticks cracked under his weight.
She didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity. “I’m okay,” Grace finally answered. She pushed to her feet. Standing at the edge of the water, she stared at him. “Can you get out?”
He sure wasn’t soaking in icy water for any health benefits. “Nay,” he replied, remaining calm.
She bit her bottom lip and looked from side to side.
Maybe she was stunned from the fall and needed prompting, or maybe she was looking for Toby. Where was he?
“Grace, can you find a long stick?” He shouldn’t have to say it, but he did anyway. “And preferably not one from the beaver dam.”
It took half a second for his request to register, then her eyes widened and she stepped into action. She picked up the fishing pole. “Will this work?”
He hoped so. This dam wouldn’t hold him much longer. The mound of twigs snapped under his weight and parts of the habitat floated away.
Grace extended the end of the pole toward him.
Ben stretched out his arm, but the rod was beyond his reach. He made another attempt, his muscles screaming despite the freezing water, which up until now had dulled his senses. Ben fell against the dam, dog tired.
“Where’s Toby?” He needed someone who wasn’t so timid and would take a step or two into the water.
“He said he would catch up. Do you want to wait?”
No. He didn’t want to dangle another minute on a pile of crumbling sticks. He pushed up higher on the mound. If he could get over to the other side, the water was bound to be shallower. He hoisted himself up, had one knee on the structure, when it split in half. Water whooshed by in a swirl, taking the section he was resting on. The rush of water sledded him into a shallow stream, but being tossed over the riverbed of rocks was worse than any body surfing he’d ever done. He found a large boulder to hug and, in doing so, prevented the current from whisking him back into the deep section.
Grace appeared on the shore and stretched the fishing pole out once more. She leaned forward, eyes closed and grimacing. “Here, take it.”
Another time he might have pulled her into the river and coaxed her into taking a swim. But not today. The temperature wasn’t much above freezing.
He pushed off the rock and stood. The water was only thigh-high, but it frothed around him and the rapid flow was such that his numb legs could buckle at any time. He dragged himself to the shore and collapsed on the cold sand.
Grace knelt next to him, tears budding in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Just let . . . me rest . . . a minute.” The air wasn’t much warmer than the frigid river. He crossed his arms, shaking uncontrollably.
“You have to get back to the haus where it’s warm.”
“We have—to find—” His teeth chattered, making it difficult to talk.
“Your lips are purple,” Grace said, taking off her cape. “Can you sit up?”
The moment he pushed himself up, she slung her cape over his shoulders and fastened it under his neck. If he wasn’t so cold, he would rebuke the woman’s cloak. Wearing any article of women’s clothing was mortifying. The scratchy wool material rubbed against his wet skin.
“Danki,” he said, too exhausted to object. He looked over the water. No more than thirty or forty feet after the shallow rock bed, he could swim that stretch against the current, if his muscles would cooperate and not spasm. Someone still needed to find Mitch. After the fight he had with the current, Toby wouldn’t make it across. For that matter, Mitch wouldn’t have made it either.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it out of there,” Grace said, a choked sob breaking from her lips.
He brought the cape higher to block his ears from the biting breeze. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave me.”
She crinkled her face. “Leave you!”
He cracked a smile. “You left me at the grocery store.”
“Hey, you two,” Toby’s voice boomed from the hilltop. “Look who I found.”
The ten-year-old standing beside Toby bowed his head.
Grace squealed with delight. She bolted from her kneeling position next to him and made her way to them.
Ben rose to his feet and wobbled in place. His legs tingled as the nerve endings thawed and he regained the feeling in his toes. He reached the top of the hill as Grace pulled her nephew into what looked like a smothering embrace, based on the boy’s grimace.
Grace pushed Mitch out to arm’s length. “I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?”
Keeping his head bowed, he shrugged.
“I found him just before the river bend. He was curled up on a bed of pine needles under some white pine saplings.”
“Mitch, you must’ve heard us calling.” Grace’s tone sharpened.
Ben shivered. “Maybe we can talk about this somewhere warm.”
“Ach, how inconsiderate of me.” She directed her attention to Toby. “How is your ankle?”
“It’s swollen, but I’ll be all right.”
She hadn’t asked Ben what the copper-tinged water tasted like. He must’ve ingested a gallon or more every time the current sucked him under.
“We’ll take the logging road back,” Grace said. “It’s easier than cutting through the woods.”
Pine needles stabbed the bottoms of Ben’s feet. He hobbled a few steps.
Grace stopped abruptly. “I know mei limping must be entertaining, but you don’t have to mock me, Ben.”
“Please don’t tease her,” Toby chimed in. “We’ve all had a rough day.”
Rough day. Who almost drowned? Ben lifted his foot, pulled out a picker, then held it up for them to see. “It’s a little difficult walking on a carpet of needles.” He tossed the thistle on the ground and lumbered a few more steps. He went barefoot in Florida a lot. The soles of his feet shouldn’t be this tender.
“I forgot you’re barefoot.” Grace tapped her nephew’s shoulder. “Run to the watermill and get Ben’s shoes. He left them by the river.” The boy took off running. “Most people wear their shoes into the water because it’s so rocky.”
“What about you? Do you swim in your shoes?” He glanced down at her stiff-looking black shoes. At one time they were probably her Sunday best and shined when they were buffed with a soft rag. Now, the leather was cracked.
“I don’t swim,” she said, adjusting her dress skirt to flap over her shoes.
“Even in the summer?”
“Ever.”
Her personality matched her shoes—tough and unforgiving. “You’re missing out on a lot of fun.”
“Jah,” Toby huffed. “If sitting in jail sounds like fun,” he said under his breath.
His friend held a grudge as deep as the ocean. Then a
gain, Ben had instigated the mess they’d gotten into in Florida.
The boy ran back to meet them. “There aren’t any shoes by the river,” he said, panting hard.
“They wouldn’t have disappeared,” Grace said.
Ben agreed. It wasn’t like in Florida where if you left your shoes too close to the ocean, the waves would take them out to sea.
“I looked all over.”
“Someone from the settlement must have found them. I’m sure they will show up,” Grace told Ben.
“I’ll be all right.” His feet were already starting to adjust to the prickly needles and cold dirt. He couldn’t imagine someone taking his shoes. The bishop was short and small-framed and the other men were gone. Who would be interested in a pair of size eleven sneakers?
Chapter Eleven
Grace steeped a pot of her friend Mattie’s special tea. She still had enough leaves from last year when her chest had filled with fluid from what the doctor said was walking pneumonia. Ben had changed into her brother Emery’s dry clothes, but he hadn’t stopped shivering. If he wasn’t careful, he would come down with pneumonia from being in the water for so long.
Grace poured Toby a cup too. It probably wouldn’t do anything to help his swollen ankle, but the cayenne pepper in the brew would set fire to his insides.
“The river must have been freezing,” Aenti Erma said, placing a few oatmeal cookies on a plate. She craned her neck toward the sitting room. “Poor Ben is still shivering even wrapped in a wool blanket and sitting in front of the woodstove.”
“I know.” Grace was glad he hadn’t refused to wear her cloak. He looked like he might at first. Most men would rather freeze to death than be caught wearing something meant for a woman. “Ben’s shoes and socks went missing and he had to walk barefoot back to the haus. I’m hoping a cup of Mattie’s tea will help.”
“No wonder he can’t warm up.”
Grace picked up the cups of tea and Aenti followed her into the sitting room with the plate of cookies.
“Here’s something that should warm you up.” Grace handed Ben one of the cups. His hands shook such that the ocher-tinted liquid sloshed over the rim.
