Hidden Mercies

by Serena B. Miller

  “Thank you for my poem. I’ll put it on my bedside table to remind myself to be grateful for what I have.”

  “I like making cards,” Amy said.

  “Well, you are certainly good at it.”

  “We’re all really glad you’re here,” Amy said. “Claire says that if we can get you to stay another couple months, she might have enough money to buy a new horse for our buggy—even if she is helping Rose. She says if she can get a new horse, we won’t have to stop every mile to let Flora rest, which means we won’t have to leave an hour earlier on church Sundays to get there on time.”

  Tom doubted that Claire wanted him to have all this information, but he was glad to know she was pleased he was here, even if it was only so that she could buy a new horse.

  He also made a note never to let Amy know anything that he didn’t want to have broadcast to the world.

  A half hour later, the new dog bowl was on the floor in his kitchen and Rocky was sleeping beside his bed while he napped and gathered his strength from the unusually busy morning—and the conversation with Amy.

  chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Claire was returning from doing a routine checkup on Laura Yoder and asked Annette if she’d mind her stopping a few minutes to check on Rose. She hadn’t heard from her sister in a few days and wanted to see how she was doing. Annette said she had a book she wanted to finish anyway, and would wait in the car.

  She and her sister didn’t bother knocking on each other’s door. They let themselves in and half the time got involved with whatever project the other one was doing.

  She opened the screen door, walked into Rose’s kitchen, and stopped cold.

  Rose was sitting at a table, her head buried in her folded arms, her shoulders shaking from silent sobs.

  Claire flew to her sister’s side. “What in the world is the matter, Rose? What can I do?”

  Rose lifted a tear-stained face and immediately started to wipe it dry with her apron.

  “N-nothing,” she said. “Just a mood. It will pass.” She looked around the kitchen, her voice suddenly a little too bright. “Can I fix you some tea?”

  “Stop it!” Claire took Rose’s face between her two palms. “This is me you’re talking to! Tell me what is wrong.”

  “Henry went to town today to get another bank loan.”

  “Another one? What do you mean, another one?”

  “A second mortgage on our house.”

  “A second mortgage? I never knew you had a first one. Didn’t Henry inherit this place straight out from his father and mother?”

  “Yes, he did.” There was a faraway look in Rose’s eyes. “For years we were debt free and he was bringing in a good income. If he can’t get a loan today or an extension on the payments . . . we’ll lose our home, Claire.”

  “What about our church? Surely the bishop would make arrangements to help you.”

  “Henry refuses to ask them for anything. I think he doesn’t want the church to know where the money has been going or what he’s been doing.”

  “And where has the money been going?”

  “Henry won’t tell me. He says it’s his business and for me to stop nagging him. He says he’s the man of the house and will take care of things. He gets so angry when I try to question him, I’m afraid to say anything.”

  “Have you looked in his checkbook?”

  “He hid it.”

  “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to try to cheer her sister up and tell her that things couldn’t possibly be that bad—but things were that bad. “Could he have taken to drink?”

  “I’ve thought about that. Henry had that wild streak when he was younger,” Rose said. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that. He drank and smoked when we first got married—back when we were still part of the Swartzentruber church, and alcohol and tobacco were not forbidden. After we became part of our Old Order church, the bishop frowned on such things, and Henry stopped smoking and pretty much gave up drinking, and I haven’t smelled anything on him.”

  “Can you pinpoint when this behavior started?”

  “No. I’ve thought back, and it’s been so gradual, I can’t remember when it started. All I know is, I don’t think Henry loves me anymore.”

  She covered Claire’s hand with her own, needing the human contact. “I think he’s jumped the fence and gone against everything we’ve ever believed in or stood for. I think Henry has fallen for another woman.”

  • • •

  A low growl awoke him. He’d been having a dream that he was flying over the mountains of Afghanistan, and for a couple of seconds, he couldn’t understand why his motor had taken on that strange sound.

  Then he heard the tap-tapping of Rocky’s toenails on the wooden floor as the dog trotted over to the window, sat on his haunches, and every few seconds growled deep in his throat.

  Tom had never been easily frightened, but he had also been physically capable of defending himself most of his adult life.

  Now, after struggling to lift that twenty-five-pound bag of dog food, he knew that even though he was stronger, he would lose in a fair fight. He walked over to the window to investigate. The German paratrooper knife he always slept with was gripped tightly in his hand. The docs had attributed that little habit to PTSD as well, but in his opinion, sleeping with a weapon in his hands was merely the prudent thing to do.

  As he scanned Claire’s yard and house, he took stock. If someone was trying to break in here or at Claire’s, he did have a Rossi .357 in the drawer beside his bedside table, but hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

  His breath caught when he saw a shadow moving against the white clapboards on the second story of Claire’s house. There was a large oak beside it, with limbs growing close to the house. For a moment he thought someone was trying to climb into an upstairs window. Then he realized that someone was climbing out.

  At that moment, he saw a sports car creep into the driveway, headlights off. A girl dressed in jeans and a bright tank top, her hair unbound and flowing down her back, slid down the tree and ran toward the car. The car door closed, and then whoever was driving it backed slowly out of the driveway.

  A faint sound of rap music filtered back to him as the car drove away.

  So Maddy was having a bit of Rumspringa again, was she? He just hoped she would use some common sense. There was a lot more trouble for kids to get into these days than when he was that age.

  He and Claire had never gotten into anything when they were Rumspringa age. They’d been good kids. He was so in love with her back then, he probably would have continued to be a good kid, hoping he could talk her into marrying him someday. If that had happened, he most likely would have turned into a decent enough Amish husband and been content with that life.

  Water over the dam, he told himself. No use crying over spilt milk. He tried to think of more clichés to comfort himself with, and couldn’t. All he knew was that it hurt to think about the past, and so he did as little of it as possible.

  “It’s okay, boy.” He tossed Rocky a treat. “You can go back to sleep now.”

  Instead of going back to sleep, he switched on the table lamp and selected another book of Levi’s to read. His nephew had interesting taste. All of Mark Twain’s works were there, right beside books on biblical archaeology and some autobiographies. There wasn’t much else in the way of fiction, except for classics, but he did find an old, dog-eared Agatha Christie mystery. A cozy mystery was about his speed tonight. He put a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and, while waiting, made some cocoa.

  There had been a lot of nights when he’d been awakened from a dead sleep, called for an emergency flight, and in the space of sixty seconds, was dressed and running—adrenaline pumping—to his helicopter, ready to do whatever was necessary.

  Being awakened by Rocky’s growl had brought on that same adrenaline rush, and he knew he would not get to sleep again until his hair-trigger trained response had calmed down.

  Toast and
cocoa and a good mystery was as good a way as any to put in time until he could close his eyes again. After a couple hours of Murder on the Orient Express, he had calmed down enough to crawl into bed again and drift off.

  It seemed like he’d been asleep only a few minutes when Rocky started barking like crazy. He wasn’t particularly worried. The sun had not yet risen. Perhaps the girl had returned and was going back to her bedroom the way she’d come out.

  He went back to sleep, but a few seconds later, there was a knock on his door.

  He jumped out of bed, yanked on some jeans, grabbed Rocky’s collar, and opened the door. Claire stood there wearing a robe. Her hair hung over one shoulder in a loose, nighttime braid. There was a wild look in her eyes.

  “Have you seen Maddy?” she asked. “She shares a room with Sarah. Sarah woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and couldn’t find her big sister. She came to get me. I checked and Maddy’s bed has not been slept in.”

  He checked the clock. It was 2:15. “Rocky woke me up and I saw her climbing out her window and down the oak tree. A car picked her up. She was dressed Englisch.”

  Claire’s expression went from fear to accusation. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I figured she was on Rumspringa and you were turning a blind eye while she went through her ‘running around’ time.”

  “I don’t ‘turn a blind eye’ when it comes to my children!” Claire said. “That might be some parents’ choice, but not mine! I watch and I pray and I teach! You should have told me!”

  “It was none of my business.”

  “How could it not be your business when you see a child endangering herself?” Claire said. “It should be everyone’s business!”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve seen boys in uniform only two years older than Maddy engaged in house-to-house combat in Iraq.”

  “It’s different with girls,” she said. “They can be so silly and trusting at that age.”

  At that moment, her pager buzzed.

  Claire yanked it from her robe. “I don’t recognize the number.”

  “Here.” He handed her his cell phone. “Use this.”

  Claire put her hands behind her back and shook her head. “I do not know how to use this device.”

  “Give me the number and I’ll make the call.”

  After the first ring, he tried to hand it to Claire, but she put her hands behind her back.

  He put the cell phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” a young girl’s voice whispered. “Claire?”

  “This is Tom,” he said.

  “This is Maddy. I—I need a ride. I’m, um, locked inside an upstairs bathroom.”

  He did not bother to ask why she was locked inside a bathroom. He was afraid he knew. “Where is the house?”

  She gave hurried directions.

  “Stay where you are. Keep the door locked. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  “Please hurry,” she begged as he hung up.

  “Where is she?” Claire said.

  “I’ll show you. We need to go.”

  “I should get dressed.”

  He hated to say it, but it was necessary. “I don’t think we have time.”

  He jerked a T-shirt over his head, wondering if he should bring his revolver with him. If Maddy needed muscle to get her out of there, he didn’t have it. On the other hand, it would probably scare Claire to death if she saw him carrying a gun.

  His guess was that his Rossi would be overkill. It was probably nothing more than a Rumspringa party anyway, and he wasn’t particularly worried about a bunch of drunken Amish teenagers getting violent, so he decided to risk it. Just to be on the safe side, he slipped the paratrooper knife into his pocket.

  “Stay here, Rocky.” He started to close the door and then changed his mind. Something told him it might be a good idea to have the dog along.

  “Where is she?” Claire asked as they sped away.

  “Maddy gave me directions to the old Tinker house near Fredericksburg. I used to be friends with a boy who lived there. I know where to go.”

  When they arrived, the house was derelict, and it looked like it had not been inhabited for many years. Nearly all the paint had peeled off the once lovely home.

  The house certainly was not empty tonight. Dozens of cars were parked around it. Loud music poured out of broken windows. Someone had rigged lights to a generator.

  “Please stay in the car, Claire,” Tom said. “Keep the door locked. I’ll leave Rocky here with you.”

  Claire nodded and huddled deeper into her robe, her eyes glued to the scene before her.

  Rocky looked at him from the backseat and whined.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Protect Claire.”

  He knew the dog had no idea what he was saying, but he thought there was a chance Rocky would be a deterrent if someone tried to get into the car. Small chance of that happening, but still . . .

  As he entered the house, he worked his way past several couples who apparently thought they were dancing but appeared to be basically holding each other up. There was no furniture. Old mattresses and sleeping bags were scattered about.

  The Tinker place had once been a fine house. A wide staircase beckoned. Maddy said she was locked in the upstairs bathroom. Because of the age of the house, he was fairly certain there would be only one.

  One thing he could tell was that this was definitely not a Rumspringa party. Amish kids, even when dressed Englisch, had a certain look. Someone who had grown up in Holmes County could tell. These were Englisch kids. Every one of them. Maddy had no business here at all.

  One of the boys said, “Hey! No old men allowed! This is our party.”

  Tom saw the pistol grip of what looked to be a Glock 9mm peeking out from the waistband of the boy’s low-riding jeans. He hoped the safety was on. There was a good chance that the kid was going to shoot himself in the leg if it wasn’t.

  “I’m looking for a girl named Maddy,” Tom said. “She called and said she wants to go home. Her mom sent me to get her. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Dude.” The boy was staring at his chest. “Chill out. I don’t care if you take the Amish chick home.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Cool T-shirt, by the way.”

  Tom glanced down. In his haste, he had accidently grabbed an Army Special Forces T-shirt, a gift from an old Army buddy. It read, We Do Bad Things To Bad People. He’d been careful not to wear it since he came to Mt. Hope.

  The kid went back to the party and Tom crept up the old stairs. Wallpaper hung in ribbons, and it was obvious by the rain stains on the wall that the roof needed attention. He was getting a bad feeling. It wasn’t just from seeing the wacked-out kids downstairs, or the ruination of a formerly fine home. He was getting one of those bad feelings that only years of combat gave you.

  If he had been in fighting form, he would not have asked for backup, not against a bunch of teenagers. The problem was, he couldn’t box his way out of a paper bag right now. If Maddy truly needed help getting away, he wasn’t sure he had the steam to do it. Not when he was unarmed and there were juveniles here who had guns stuck down their pants.

  He paused on the landing and dialed 911. When the operator answered, he quickly gave the address and said, “This is Marine Captain Tom Miller. I’ve come to get a young friend out of a party that might turn bad before I can get her out of here. Could you send a police officer just in case?”

  “We’ll send someone over,” the operator said. “Are you and your friend all right?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Tom said. “I’m heading up the stairs to where she is, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this line open for a few minutes until I can evaluate the situation.”

  “No problem,” the operator said. “I’ll send one of our squad cars over right now.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped his phone into his pants pocket without turning it off. It was a precaution he hoped wasn’t necessary.<
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  chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Claire stared at the ruined house, wondering how Maddy could have allowed herself to go inside that evil-looking place. The longer she sat there, the angrier she got. What in the world had the girl been thinking? She had thought she and Maddy were close. Obviously, she was wrong. Right now she had no idea who Maddy was.

  Tom should not have gone in there alone. He was big and could look intimidating, but she knew he was not yet a well man, nor a strong one.

  Before he had pulled his T-shirt on this evening, she had a clear view of his bare chest. That sight would stay forever etched in her mind. Tom had been a soldier most of his life, and he most definitely still had a warrior’s body, but the shrapnel had done more damage than she’d ever dreamed. There were multiple scars crisscrossing his chest. She could not even guess how many surgeries he’d endured.

  Claire had seen something else before Tom had put on his shirt. On his left breastbone, directly above his heart, there was a tattoo. She did not approve of tattoos, but if a man had to have a tattoo, she could not imagine choosing a better one. There were no frills, pictures, or fancy swirls. Tom’s tattoo was just seven bare, stark words.

  For those I love, I will sacrifice.

  It would be hard not to love a man who had chosen those words above all others to write permanently above his heart.

  And now because of her foolish, foolish niece, that valiant man was going into that derelict house filled with who knows what, and he was doing it all alone.

  What would Abraham have done under the same circumstances?

  She was afraid she knew exactly. Nothing until the child came home. Then, no matter how scared and contrite Maddy was, there would have been punishment.

  Everything within her wanted to go inside that house in case Tom or Maddy needed her, but Tom had told her to stay here in the car, with the doors locked, and she had been trained to be obedient.

  Everything within her wanted to go inside that house to be at the side of the man who was trying to protect her niece, but she was wearing her nightclothes and had no head covering. She had been trained that no respectable Amish woman could ever go out in public dressed as she was. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Rocky.” She ruffled the dog’s white fur, glad Tom had brought the dog along. It was a comfort having the animal with her.