Amish Country Amnesia

by Meghan Carver

  “What about the man called Carlyle? He is a police officer?”

  “Yeah, on the take. That means he’s accepting cash payments from the criminals in exchange for keeping the police away from the investigation. If the ring goes down, they’ll rat him out and he’ll go down, as well.” He had to get them free, and the sooner the better.

  “How did you discover him?” Sarah glanced through the door, an odd mix of curiosity and repugnance on her pretty face.

  And the more he remembered, the greater the chasm between her Amish world and his Englisch one grew.

  “A hunch. My captain suspected something odd, since we never seemed to get anywhere with an investigation. So, we kept it quiet, and I went in alone. It didn’t take long to learn the identity of the dirty cop and just how deep his involvement was. The problem was, I had to withdraw too soon. I never got to report Carlyle to my captain. In the department, he still appears innocent with a clean record. I thought more cops were involved than just Carlyle, but I ran out of time. It had seemed at the time that the tentacles of the counterfeiting ring snaked further through the police department than just Carlyle, but I wasn’t able to discover exactly who was involved. That means I’m not sure now who to trust, except for one officer. One friend. He’s the one I’ll call.”

  “But how did you end up out here in our Amish community?”

  “I was stressed. Needed some time off before the trial.” He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I think I thought that getting out of town would be a good idea. Apparently, I was right that I was in danger. But the danger followed me anyway.”

  John leaned forward, squinting toward the gathering dark outside. Carlyle and Jimmy the Bruise were returning from their vehicle, lighters in hand. The moment was at hand.

  * * *

  Snow flung into the barn and stuck to their captors. Sarah leaned against John and swiped a hand over her forehead. This was it.

  She had had some good times in this widespread community, cultivated some lifelong relationships, made mountains of memories. But her time here was almost over. And if she did survive, she and Lyddie would move back to Lancaster County. Even now, her letter back to her mother rested in her apron pocket, jabbing her in the leg when she shifted her position, a persistent reminder that Gott’s will was best.

  Her time with John was also almost over. She most likely wouldn’t make it through the night, let alone make it back to Lancaster County. Her life was at an end. There was no way out, and it seemed for sure and for certain that the men quickly approaching them would achieve their goal.

  Had Gott decided it was her time to go? Apparently so. Grief coursed through her. But a second emotion also ran through her veins. Gratitude.

  She was grateful that Gott, in His wisdom and grace, had seen fit to give her two loves in one short lifetime.

  Two loves?

  Jah, she had loved her husband dearly and did not regret a minute spent with him.

  But Gott had given her another love. Whether or not it could work was up to John. He probably was not willing to leave his Englisch life. So be it. But if neither survived what was coming, she at least wanted him to know how she felt. He had taken the huge risk back at the schoolhouse to reveal his heart’s feelings to her. She should return the sentiment while she still had the breath to speak the words.

  She would toss out her earlier logic that she saw no point in voicing emotions. She must have been ferhoodled by fright. The heart sometimes did not know logic.

  Sarah loved him. John’s desire to rejoin the Amish church was uncertain, even unlikely. But his care for her had helped her see that a loving Gott would not want her to be miserable. For that, she was grateful.

  What she ought to do was clear. Tell him that she loved him. But her throat constricted as the men quickly approached.

  John released her and took her hand in his as, together, they faced Carlyle and Jimmy the Bruise. She was grateful for the warmth of human touch in what would most likely be her final moments.

  SEVENTEEN

  The snow beat furiously against the barn door as it swung on its hinges. How many days had it been since John had first arrived here in the Amish community? His mind couldn’t quite figure it out, but it hadn’t been that long ago. Lyddie had told about pulling him on the sled as he lay unconscious.

  Now he was stuck, against his own volition. His arrival here had been the result of a lifesaving mission. His departure was to be the result of a life-ending mission.

  Low muttering swirled about as Carlyle and Jimmy the Bruise pulled their collars up against the weather. “That storm will be helpful.”

  “Yeah, it’ll cover our tracks, but the fire will still burn strong.”

  John couldn’t tell which one said what, but did it matter? Neither could wait to light the match.

  The barn added some relief against the storm as he followed Sarah deeper inside to join Thunder and Lightning in their stalls. He met Sarah’s gaze as she stood near Thunder’s muzzle, intending to say something encouraging to strengthen her. But instead, her eyes burned bright with determination.

  “I will not remove their bridles.” Her whisper was barely audible. “If we can find a way of escape, we will take the horses, as well.”

  John ran his hand down the length of Thunder as he exited the stall. The sooner he could identify potential exits, the better their chances of escape once these goons were gone.

  “I’ll check the perimeter,” The Bruise was saying near the door. “Make sure there’s no way out and all exits are blocked or locked.”

  Carlyle nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on ’em here.”

  Jimmy jogged out into the snow, and Carlyle turned to see John. “So, you know our plan. It’s a pretty good one, don’t you think? I’m sure the Fort Wayne Police Department will give you a proper and honorable police funeral. I’ll be your pallbearer. Maybe it’ll be a memorial service, depending on how much of you is left. Either way, you’ll be gone but not forgotten.” A wicked grin slithered across his face.

  Sarah had apparently finished whatever she was doing with the horses, and now she stood next to him. Her free hand slid into his, and he grasped her warmth. Whatever happened next, they were in this together, the two of them.

  Carlyle stared for a moment at their intertwined hands. “Oh, now, Jed. Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen for this pretty little Amish girl. Too bad that relationship won’t go anywhere.”

  The Bruise reappeared in the doorway. “All’s secure. And that troublemaking dog seems to be long gone after I chased him off.”

  With weapon in hand, the officer waved them back. “Back you go. Like I said, you won’t be tied. But not to worry, there’s no way out. One thing about the Amish, they know how to build a sturdy barn. But it’s still wood. It’ll burn fast enough.”

  The officer’s gun trained on John and Sarah, Carlyle and Jimmy the Bruise stepped backward toward the door. Without another word, they both stepped outside. The door slammed shut. John raced forward in time to hear a scraping, as if they were securing it with a two-by-four or a strong limb. Either one would burn up in the fire, leaving no evidence of foul play.

  John wasn’t sure what they would do on the outside to get the fire going, but there were many ways to start a fire, even in a snowstorm. The danger was the same. Even as he stood there with those few thoughts, staring at the door, smoke began to filter in around the bottom edge. A moment later, a flicker of fire began to lick at the base of the door.

  Adrenaline spiked in his arteries. His heart pumping and thumping, he rushed back to Sarah. “Whatever they’re doing out there, it’s fast. We have fire.”

  A mist formed around Sarah’s eyes. “We’re locked in. There’s no way out. A barn can be completely engulfed, and horses can die from smoke inhalation within less than ten minutes.”

  “Then
I’ll hurry.” He squeezed her upper arm. “Stay here. Now that Carlyle and Jimmy are gone, I’m going to search the perimeter for a way out.” It may be a familiar barn to her, but that didn’t mean that she knew every loose board, every knothole, every animal in-and-out.

  He dashed around the inside edge of the structure, pushing on walls, trying doorknobs, searching for tools. As he worked his way through a tool room, he grabbed an ax.

  Less than two minutes later, he returned to find Sarah swiping at her eyes with her apron, looking as if she fought desperately to stay strong and not let her mist turn into a waterfall of tears.

  John hitched up his grip on the ax and then ran his free hand down the length of Sarah’s arm, catching her hand. “Dry your tears. We’re not going to die in this fire, and neither are Thunder and Lightning. I’ve found a way out.”

  * * *

  Hope fluttered in Sarah’s stomach as she looked up into John’s shining green eyes. Could it really be? Please, Gott! Her death had been nigh, but now here stood a handsome and capable man telling her she was saved.

  John dropped her hand to grip the ax, and a sudden chill shook her, despite the heat from the growing flames. She forced positive thoughts into her mind. Everything would be all right. She had to believe that.

  “It never hurts to have an ax with you, for fighting fires or fighting the bad guys.” Nervousness dimpled around his eyes, but he seemed to force a smile to reassure her. “The walls and doors are solid wood, so I can’t chop through those in the few minutes we have before the smoke gets to be too much. But, Carlyle and his partner in crime forgot about the hayloft at the back of the barn.”

  “Jah, of course, the little door used to toss out the hay. It is to our advantage, then, that those men are not farmers.” She followed John toward the ladder. Flames were inching farther up the door and the walls, and a small bunch of straw had caught. It would not be long before the entire barn was engulfed. Her breath caught in her throat at the acrid aroma of smoke.

  John clambered up a few rungs, looking back to make sure she was coming behind. Smoke was beginning to billow upward. Sarah, despite shaking legs, stepped up to the first rung. Halfway up, he called down with a wobbly voice, “I’m not sure how we’ll get to the ground, but at least we won’t burn up.”

  “Oh!” A drum seemed to be beating in her chest. “The rope!” They could shimmy down the rope to the ground below. In the summertime, with the doors below open wide, children could swing on the rope in and out of the first level of the barn. Lyddie had begged time and time again to swing, but Sarah just never had the stomach for it. It seemed too dangerous. So many possible injuries just waiting to happen.

  But now was not the time for caution. Even a broken leg after plummeting to the ground would be better than dying in the fire. A broken limb would heal. And surely the rope would provide some assistance in getting down to the ground.

  With hay stacked neatly all around, John led them across the loft and to the door. It was secured with a chain and padlock, but a couple of blows from the ax broke through the wooden door handle. He slipped the chain off and swung the small door open, and a chill blew in for a moment. But then the fire, fed by the oxygen, roared up the ladder. Sarah inched toward the door, desperate for a gulp of the fresh air. Already she felt like she had smoke and soot all over her.

  John scanned the yard and the nearby woods and, seeing no one, dropped the ax down to the ground. “So no one gets hurt on the way down.” He tugged on the rope and then hung on it, testing it for strength. Seemingly satisfied, he tossed the end out the door. It barely touched the ground. “I’ll go first, to make sure it’ll hold.”

  A moment later, John was on the ground. He held his arms up as if to catch Sarah, a signal that it was her turn and the rope would hold.

  With one final look around the loft, Sarah grasped the rope, a fold of her skirt in each hand to protect against rope burns. With a gasp stuck in her throat, she stepped out of the loft and into the air. The gasp let loose as her hands slipped on the twine, her strength not adequate for the task. With barely both hands on the rope, she slid down to the bottom at a blurring speed. A moment later, strong arms held her. John had caught her in his embrace.

  With her feet firmly on the ground again, snow swirling all around but doing nothing to stop the fire, Sarah glanced around the yard. Surely, Carlyle and Jimmy the Bruise had left.

  “The horses.” Sarah nodded as John breathed deeply of the fresh air and then stepped toward the back barn doors, leaving a void in his absence. Several strong ax blows to the solid crossbeams securing the barn door swung it open. The influx of fresh air fueled the fire, and flames leaped out the doors at the ceiling and around the doorway.

  Pulling away from her surveillance, Sarah quickly untied her apron and jerked it off. “Here,” she called to John before he could enter the barn. She folded it and knelt to wet the apron with some snow. “You must cover the horses’ eyes, or they will not follow.”

  John rushed inside, leaping away from the flames that seemed to chase him. Too many heartbeats later, he reappeared, leading Lightning. The door swung shut just as he pulled away the blindfold and pushed the horse through. Sarah jumped forward to catch the door before it could hit the horse in the muzzle, and Lightning trotted free of the barn, circling around in the yard.

  With one animal safe, John reentered the blazing barn. Sarah stood at the door, ready to hold it open, her eyes watering from the smoke and her throat aching for a long drink of fresh water. Just as the flames leaped larger inside, John appeared with Thunder. He pulled on the lead rope, digging his heels into the floor to lead the frightened animal out.

  Heat closed in on Sarah as the horse finally rushed past her and out into the yard.

  “Sarah!” John pointed at her skirt.

  The hem of her dress was on fire. A ringing in her ears clanged loudly, and she saw John’s lips moving, but she could not hear his voice. Flames licked up her skirt, but she stood immobile. Before she could form a coherent response, she was down on the ground. John shoved the damp, soiled apron at her and kneeled at her feet. As he scooped large handfuls of snow on her hem, she tamped at it with the piece of cloth.

  The fire of her skirt was soon extinguished, and John pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get the horses and get out of here.”

  She could only nod as she rubbed her hands together.

  Lightning continued to prance around the yard back of the barn. But Thunder, with ears pinned back, tossed his head up and down. He stamped his feet in the snow, panic radiating from him. John spoke softly to him, but as Sarah crossed the yard in the deep snow to calm him, the horse stepped toward her. She held up both hands, her cry of “John!” trusting and desperate.

  With a loud whinny, Thunder reared up, his hooves flailing over her head. Sarah froze. Even over the roar of the fire, she could hear her own scream.

  EIGHTEEN

  Sarah’s scream pulsed through her head, only extinguished when John pulled her to safety. Both fell in the snow as the horse trotted away from the barn.

  With trembling hands, Sarah accepted John’s help up, and they huddled together. “We must let the horses calm. They are panicked from the fire.”

  She nodded as she stroked her own arms, whispering a prayer and praying her own words would soothe her, as well. John’s strong arms encompassed her, but Sarah also kept an eye on Thunder and Lightning. They were a crucial form of transportation and could not be lost, especially since they provided a speed that could not be achieved on foot. The barn was destroyed, or would be, by the time the fire was extinguished. But as she counted her blessings, she numbered quite a few. They had escaped, unharmed. John had saved both the horses. Lyddie was still safe. Between the intensity of the fire and the snowstorm, the bad guys should have been long gone. But the tension would not flow out of her. Her muscles bunched, and her hands shook as she thou
ght of the long trek through the woods to get to the phone shanty.

  The canter of the horses slowed, and Sarah broke free to approach the animals at a gentle pace. Grasping a lead rope in each hand, she led them farther away from the fire and behind some overgrown mulberry bushes where they would not be visible from the front of the schoolhouse or the road.

  “I’m sorry there’s no time to rest, but we need to move.” John joined her behind the bush, his voice urgent. “We still need to get to the phone as quickly as possible. And I don’t trust staying here, just in case they come back or are watching from afar.”

  “We will have to ride Thunder and Lightning then. The Amish do not often ride their horses. They are for pulling. So even without the fire, we would not have had saddles. Can you ride bareback?”

  “I’ll have to learn.” His gaze swept down her long skirt. “What about you?”

  “I learned when I was younger. My mother was not happy with me for riding, but I loved it. The freedom of it. The speed. The wind. It is true that it is not easy for an Amish woman to ride a horse, but my skirt is full enough for some give, and since it is winter, I have thick leggings on underneath.” She looked from the ground to the height of the horse. “I could use a hand up, though, please.”

  He laced his fingers together as she hiked her skirt up and bunched it in one hand. It felt odd and uncomfortable, but what was that cliché? Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she certainly was desperate to get John to that telephone. With the other hand on his sturdy shoulder, she pulled herself up onto the horse. After she settled her full skirt about her, she looked around, but there was no sign of Carlyle and The Bruise. She tucked around herself a barn blanket John had managed to save from the fire.

  John on Thunder, after receiving directions from Sarah, led them into the woods. Exhausted by the events of the day and warmed by the blanket, Sarah was desperate for sleep. Weariness enveloped her, but anxiety kept her eyes open.