by Ruth Reid
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t see your resemblance to the billboard photograph you’ve been studying each time it comes up?”
“It looked familiar, is all.”
“That toddler went missing fifteen years ago,” he said. “The mother was putting groceries in the trunk of her car when someone hit her on the head and rendered her unconscious.”
“Why are you telling me all of this? I don’t know anything about the people involved. Do you think I know something? Is that why you’re taking me away?” She spoke faster, unable to calm the panic growing inside of her.
“No,” he said. “I believe you’re innocent on all accounts.”
“Then why am I . . . ?” Oh, Lord. The air left her lungs in a whoosh. “You think that girl is me?”
“I know this is all overwhelming and it’ll take time to adjust.”
“I don’t believe any of it. I might look like the girl on the sign, but I’m nett. I’m Amish. I’ve never lived anywhere but Posen. You have the wrong person.”
The corners of the man’s mouth turned down. “Once we’re at the station in Bloomfield, we’ll run more DNA tests. If the blood work shows you’re not the girl on the billboard, I’ll drive you back to Posen. Okay? Will you trust me to look into it?”
Faith nodded, having no choice but to agree.
Chapter 37
Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
Present day
The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Faith recited the scripture from Deuteronomy multiple times before it dawned on her that the homeless man had quoted the same verse. Had God used the red-haired man to deliver the message or were the homeless man’s ramblings a coincidence? Pondering the possibilities sent an unexplainable warmth through her. As if God Himself had shrouded her in peace, her hands stopped trembling. Suddenly the police station wasn’t so gloomy. God hadn’t abandoned her. He was with her, here in the gray painted room, awaiting the DNA results. And God would oversee her safe return home once the agent was satisfied she wasn’t the missing child.
A thirtysomething woman entered the room. “Hello, I’m Kendra Hammond, an FBI psychologist.” She extended her hand, shook Faith’s firmly, then sat opposite Faith at the metal table. “Agent Sanderson asked me to stop in, introduce myself, and see if there’s anything I can do for you. Would you like something to drink? Something to eat?”
“Nay, thank you.” Faith hadn’t eaten since noon, and she had no idea how late it was now. Without windows in the room, she had nothing to go by but her growling stomach. Still, she couldn’t eat. She’d already been offered food, drinks, newspaper and magazines to read, along with multiple invitations to talk about the situation. But she had nothing to say. She wasn’t the person they were looking for. This mix-up was wrong. They shouldn’t be holding her in a windowless room—she should be home sharing the porch swing with Gideon.
“I’m sorry the accommodations here are not more suitable.” Kendra scanned the room and grimaced.
“I don’t mind.” She wouldn’t be here much longer. According to the promise Special Agent Sanderson had made, he’d expedite the results from the blood sample.
“So what are some of your hobbies?”
“I like to cook and quilt. I garden in the summer, and sometimes in the winter I put jigsaw puzzles together.”
“I might be able to arrange for a puzzle to be brought in. Would you like to work on one while we talk?”
Faith shook her head. “May I have a glass of water, please?”
“Absolutely.” The woman left the room.
A few minutes later, the woman returned with the drink, along with Agent Sanderson holding a piece of paper in his hand. They sat opposite Faith.
“The test results you requested are back,” Agent Sanderson said, glancing briefly at the psychologist.
Faith wrung her hands under the table as the agent placed the papers in front of her.
“With user error factored in, the results indicate that there is a 99.98 percent chance that you are Adriana Colepepper,” Agent Sanderson said. “These figures are within fractions of the ones reported from the fingerprints and hair samples.”
So it was true. She wasn’t Faith Pinkham—never had been. Her parents were imposters. Numbness traveled over her body, deadening her senses. The agent’s next words garbled, his mouth moved in slow motion. It couldn’t be true. Her parents wouldn’t have lied to her all these years.
“Maybe you would feel better if you drank some water,” the woman said, sliding the Styrofoam cup closer to Faith. “We can talk about it when you’re ready.”
How could she ever be able to talk about something as earth-shattering as her parents’ betrayal? She couldn’t understand it herself.
“Your birth parents have been waiting outside,” Agent Sanderson said. “Would you like to meet them now?”
Faith stared at him without really seeing him, or anything around her, for that matter.
“They’ve waited fifteen years to reunite with you—their daughter,” the woman said softly.
Faith shivered. The thought of meeting two strangers who claimed to be her parents was more than she could handle. “I think I’m going to be—” She pushed away from the table and went to the small trash can next to the door. Vomiting didn’t help relieve the nausea.
The woman came up beside her and tapped her shoulder. “A drink of water should help,” she said, handing Faith the cup.
Faith took a sip. It didn’t help settle her stomach, but she drank more. “What happens nau?”
“You’ll meet your parents . . . and begin your new life.” The woman smiled kindly. “I’ve had the opportunity to talk with your parents. They’re anxious to get to know you, and they understand there will be an adjustment period. It’ll be normal to feel awkward. But I promise you it won’t stay that way. The Colepeppers have gone through a lot. I hope you will give them a chance.”
Faith studied the worn paint on the cement floor. Where are You, God? I thought I would be going home. I thought this was all a huge misunderstanding. Her stomach roiled. She lunged for the trash can again.
After a few minutes, Faith agreed to meet her parents. She stood in the room, next to the psychologist, as a man and woman entered. Faith gulped. The couple claiming to be her parents were the customers she’d waited on Friday, then again on Saturday for both breakfast and lunch.
Mrs. Colepepper’s makeup ran down her face, leaving heavy black smudges around her eyes. She held out her arms and pulled Faith into a hug. “I knew you were still alive. I never gave up looking for you.”
Faith wasn’t sure how to respond. She stood stiff in the woman’s arms, feeling dull, lifeless. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to share the same elation. Not with two strangers.
Mrs. Colepepper pushed back, but didn’t let go of Faith’s arms. “Brandon, look at our daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“We’ve missed you,” Mr. Colepepper said, tears pooling in his eyes. “May I hug you?”
Faith nodded out of politeness. He must have sensed her resistance because his hug lasted a fraction of a second compared to his wife’s clingy embrace. Faith wiped her face with her dress sleeve, but more tears flowed freely.
The agent swiped the tissue box from the table and offered it to Faith.
Faith forced a smile but was too choked up to speak. Why, God? I don’t understand. Why is this happening? Didn’t I read mei Bible? Didn’t I seek You?
Mrs. Colepepper drew her into another tight embrace, her lilac perfume engulfing Faith’s senses. “Let’s go home,” she said, half crying, half giddy with laughter.
Faith looked at Agent Sanderson for help. Did she have to leave the station with these strangers?
The psychologist cleared her throat. “Would it be all right if I drop by and check on you?”
Faith nodded.
Mrs. Colepepper turned to Agent Sanderson. “Thank you for putting a rush on Adriana’s recovery and for everything you’ve done over the years. I’ll send you an invitation to the celebration.”
“I know you’ve waited a long time for this day, and our team was happy to help.”
Mr. Colepepper shook the agent’s hand. “I, too, am grateful for your prompt response.”
Faith stared at the floor. She knew so little about the Colepeppers, about what had happened. The agent had explained how Mrs. Colepepper had been putting groceries in the trunk when she was knocked unconscious. The car was stolen with her inside— her . . . Adriana.
In the backseat, Faith gazed out the window and watched the buildings go by in a blur. She’d never been to a big city nor had she seen so many tall buildings.
“Tell me about yourself,” Mrs. Colepepper said.
“There isn’t much to tell. I’m Amish. We believe in—” Her statement of faith, of beliefs and plain ways, were they hers? “I like animals. On our farm we have milk cows, horses, hogs, chickens . . .” She teared up.
“Do you ride? The equestrian club is part of the country club. We could sign you up for lessons.”
“That would be nice.” Faith smiled, unaware that people actually took horseback riding lessons. She’d jumped on Buttercup and ridden bareback when she was younger, but no one taught her to ride. Granted, riding did take practice since the buggy horse’s gait wasn’t the smoothest without a saddle. Faith turned her gaze out the window and spotted another one of those billboards with her picture on it. She recalled the reporter who came to the restaurant. He had a camera. He said the photos were for his article. The newspaper printed both pictures of the food and of the building. Had he taken other photographs without her knowing? He could have compared the photographs he’d taken at The Amish Table with the images on the reward sign. She couldn’t get over how the two articles appeared in the same paper. How, in the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Mrs. Colepepper tapped her hand. “So what’s your favorite subject in school?”
“I don’t go to schul.”
“What!” The woman’s eyes grew large. “Why not? It’s the law.”
“We go through the eighth grade. I finished mei schooling a few years ago.”
“Oh, that’s just not right. For heaven’s sake, what will you do in life without an education?”
Had she been asked this morning, Faith’s answer would have been simple. She’d become a wife, a mother, a part owner in the restaurant one day. “Mei learning’s been on the job, so to speak. I learned how to cook and clean and sew at home, then how to wait on customers and cook at the restaurant. That’s how we do things, it’s the Amish way.” Her way.
Mrs. Colepepper shook her head, making tsk-tsk noises with her tongue. Obviously she disagreed with the Amish way of doing things, which most Englischers did. She pursed her lips as if she was about to say more, then stopped.
Mr. Colepepper turned off the main road, then slowed the car as they approached a small stone building. Inside the building, a man wearing a white button-down uniform shirt waved him through.
“Hon, you’ll have to inform the gatehouse tomorrow to expect a high volume of guests over the next few weeks. You know everyone will be anxious to meet Adriana.”
“Yes, I’ll provide them with a list so they don’t have to phone the house each time.”
Adriana. Faith rolled the new name over in her mind. A pretty name—for someone else. Her name was Faith.
The pavement turned into cobblestone as Mr. Colepepper turned onto a long driveway. By the time he stopped, Mrs. Colepepper had her cell phone out and was pressing buttons. Outdoor floodlights aimed at the house came on.
Faith gulped. “Is this a hotel?”
“Oh goodness, no. This is our home,” Mrs. Colepepper said. She waited for her husband to pull around the circle drive, then park the car, before scooting out of the vehicle. She held the door open. “Welcome home, Adriana.”
It hadn’t crossed Faith’s mind to ask about siblings, but seeing the size of the house, she must come from a large family. Her stomach fluttered. What if her new brothers and sisters treated her like Olivia had—like she didn’t belong? Then again, they’d be right. She didn’t.
Mrs. Colepepper placed her hand on Faith’s back. “Is something wrong?”
Everything is wrong, she wanted to say, but shook her head instead.
Mr. Colepepper drove off, the car’s headlights disappearing behind thick hedges. A moment later, headlights flashed in a different direction and then one of five doors automatically opened and he pulled the car into the stall.
Motioning to the house, Mrs. Colepepper led her through the front doors. Faith stood still, her gaze traveling up the winding staircase.
“Don’t be shy,” Mrs. Colepepper said, nudging her more into the foyer. “The kitchen is this way. Let’s see what we can find to eat.”
Faith followed, stepping gingerly across the shiny marble floors. She scanned the area. It must take days to scrub this much space. Oak cabinets lined the kitchen, and the countertops shined with what looked like flecks of gold embedded in the granite. Multiple ovens were built into the wall, and the stove resembled the size of the one at the restaurant. Copper pots hung from the giant center island.
Mr. Colepepper entered the room from a different door. “You looking for something to make?” he asked his wife.
“We should have picked up something while we were out,” she said, closing the refrigerator door. “Georgette cleaned it out while we were gone. How ’bout Chinese?”
They both looked at Faith as if waiting for her to answer.
“I’m nett sure I can eat anything.” She studied the gray marble swirls in the white floor.
“You should try. I would feel horrible if you went to bed hungry your first night home.” Mrs. Colepepper pressed a few buttons on her phone, then held it to her ear. “Are you still delivering?”
“While she’s ordering takeout, why don’t I show you where you can put your—” Mr. Colepepper tightened his lips in what looked like an apologetic frown. “You didn’t bring any of your belongings, did you?”
Faith shook her head. “I didn’t know . . .” I’d be leaving forever.
“Don’t worry. Anything you want, we’ll get for you. Roslyn loves to shop, so I’m sure she’s already planning a trip to the mall.
By the end of the week, you’ll have a completely new wardrobe.”
Faith glanced at her dress, her Sunday best. She recalled purchasing the plum material with the tip money she’d saved and how she’d taken great care in cutting out the pattern.
“Food should arrive shortly,” Mrs. Colepeppper said, joining them at the foot of the winding staircase. “Have you seen your room yet?”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman frowned. “I know it’ll take awhile for you to feel comfortable calling me Mom, but until then, please call me Roslyn.”
“And I’m Brandon.”
Roslyn’s phone rang and she took a few steps away to answer. “We just arrived home a few minutes ago. Yes, we’re showing her around the house now. Yes, I know. We’re taking it slow.” Roslyn pulled the phone away and mouthed something Faith couldn’t decipher.
“It’s her sister, Chrisla,” Brandon said. “I’m sure the phone will ring all night. Everyone is excited about meeting you.”
Faith cleared her throat. “Do you have other children?”
He shook his head. “We had a tough time after we lost you. Roslyn blamed herself and . . . she suffered a nervous breakdown.”
“I’m sorry.” Faith wished she could be more sympathetic, noticing the man’s eyes glistening with tears. Lord, I don’t understand this.
Brandon drew a breath and released it. “It was difficult to watch her unravel. Things happen for a reason, I suppose.”
Faith lowered her head. “Only God knows what’s in store.” Good or bad.
> A few minutes passed before Roslyn came back into the room apologizing for not being able to get off the phone sooner. “Your aunt Chrisla is excited to meet you,” she said. “I convinced her to wait until tomorrow. I’m sure you must be exhausted.” She glanced at her husband. “How much of the house have you shown her?”
“We were waiting for you,” he said.
Roslyn motioned to the room off to the left. “We’ll start in Brandon’s study.” She walked Faith through the different rooms on the main floor before the doorbell chimed. “We’ll finish this after we eat,” she said, going to the door.
Faith was already confused. The rooms were large, with furniture she’d only seen in the magazines she flipped through while waiting for her mother at the doctor’s office. She still hadn’t seen the upstairs or downstairs. It was hard to imagine two people living in such a large house without getting lost.
They ate at the kitchen island. The chicken had a tangy citrus flavor with a hint of ginger. Something she thought she could mimic if given time in a kitchen with the right spices. Conversation at the table was awkward, as much for the Colepeppers as for Faith. When she finished eating, she rinsed her plate in the sink. Not wanting to snoop, she pointed to the cabinet below the sink. “Is your dish soap in here?”
“Just leave the dishes in the sink. Georgette will take care of them in the morning.”
“It’s really nett a bother.” Three plates and three forks were nothing compared to the dishes, let alone the pots and pans, she washed after every meal at home. An image of Gideon, standing at the sink with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, popped into her mind. Would she ever see him again?
“I know you’re tired,” Roslyn said. “Let me show you to your room. Tomorrow we’ll spend the whole day together.”
Faith’s stomach twisted. There was only so much small talk one could make. She followed Roslyn up the open staircase. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floors. The wide hallway seemed to go on forever.
“I think you’ll like this suite.” Roslyn opened the door.
Faith noticed the white carpet and didn’t want to step on it for fear she would track dirt.
