Healing Faith

by Jennyfer Browne

  Healing Faith

  By Jennyfer Browne

  Published by Jennyfer Browne at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Jennyfer Browne

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter 1

  The bus rumbled along the highway, the mottled landscape a ghostly blur under the late night moonlight. I wasn’t concerned with what was outside as we traveled, but what I had left behind. So many memories and so much pain that if I dared to sleep; it would only bring on the nightmares that would surely leave me panicking and then dumped off on the highway in the middle of nowhere.

  I shifted in my seat and tried to get more comfortable, the bruises on my hips feeling a little tender from sitting for so long. But I was used to the pain Sean caused. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t feel some kind of discomfort. I frowned at the notebook in my hand and leafed through it once more, the proof of the pain there in black and white. I rubbed at my chest to quell the unease I felt at running away and studied the journal again, needing the proof to secure my decision to flee in the first place. Pages upon pages of entries about my relationship with my boyfriend sat in my lap.

  Sean Miller was in every entry of my journal.

  The good was few and far between.

  The bad made me more resolute.

  I hid the bruises on my arm from Dad today. Even if it were warm out, Dad wouldn’t question the sweatshirt. It was what I always wore to cover them.

  Sean was late picking me up for the party. I guess it was okay we didn’t go. My leg still hurt from where he kicked it.

  Sean brought flowers today. He was really sorry.

  My finger is healing crooked. I don’t think anyone noticed how swollen it was.

  First time in the face. Dad believed the softball excuse.

  His touch repulses me. I will never like it.

  I should have never said no. I should have just let him do it. It’s not worth it anymore.

  The black and blue faded, but what I had written over the last year and a half reminded me again and again why I was on a bus fleeing my home in California and traveling across country. My only option it seemed was to run.

  Get away. Save myself.

  The anger in Sean’s black eyes had told me that this would be the last time I ran from him if he ever found me.

  I rubbed at the bruise on my hip again and looked outside at the darkness in the window, seeing more than my reflection staring back at me. I could still see him in my mind, feel his hands on me, grabbing and trying to convince me that I should just let him do it. I had let him wait long enough, he kept saying. His friends sat there laughing, urging him on. I should have let him. Instead I had kicked him and ran, hoping maybe this time I might find the nerve to tell my father. Every time I tried to confess to my father though, he was always in a rush. An important city council meeting, or public speech engagement was always more important.

  No, my father was too absorbed in his political career to notice his family.

  It was his way of dealing with the death of his wife and the reminder of her, which were my sister, Stacy and I. Many times I think if we had died in the car accident with her, he would have been able to manage his grief better. Instead we were a reminder of his pain and he chose to ignore it. Ignore us. Stacy intentionally applied to schools across country to get away and make a clean break. I was left to finish school and pretend that our home life was picture perfect, despite the tragedy.

  When Sean and I started dating, my father couldn’t have been happier. Sean was the perfect boyfriend, the son of my father’s best friend and therefore a good match for me. I would be taken care of, and my father could look forward to furthering his career without the baggage of his family. The trouble was, with Sean, my father turned a blind eye and because of that, I found myself trapped in a relationship.

  I moved to the last page of the journal, to the list my sister suggested I write while waiting for the bus. It was a short list of things I wanted that I couldn’t have if I stayed.

  Safety. Purpose. Love. Family.

  I had none of that while I stayed.

  Sean never made me feel safe, more like guessing which version of Jekyll and Hyde he would be when I saw him. Purpose? My hopes and dreams were quashed when Sean refused to let me go to San Francisco to study cooking. And I had no idea about love. While my parents put on a public front of dedicated love, the heated arguments at night that kept us up and huddled in our beds provided proof that love had long since vanished between my mother and father.

  My sister’s words from my frantic call the night before played in my head again.

  “Kate, you won’t ever get anywhere if you stay there. You can come here, but you need to decide what it is you really want to do with yourself. Come to Illinois. We’ll figure it out once you’re away from him.”

  Escape was my only option for a chance at happiness. Perhaps what was ahead of me would be my salvation. I needed something to hope for. Somehow, on the three-day bus ride to Illinois, I would figure out how to make a life away from what I knew. I had nothing to lose. I closed my eyes to that hope and forced my mind to think of those things, rather than what I had left behind.

  ~~~~

  The bus jostled me awake roughly, the stench of burning oil filling the cabin at an alarming rate. I bolted from my seat, grabbing my backpack when I heard the driver hollering for us to get off the bus. We tumbled out in a panic, unsure whether or not it would explode at any moment. I squinted into the bright sun and moved far from the smoking mass until I could breathe a little easier. Looking around, we were surrounded by nothing but corn.

  Miles and miles of corn.

  I had no idea where we were, the bus route taking us in and out of just about every state between California and Illinois. All I could tell was that it was in the middle of nowhere. I looked around for any sign of civilization but found none. The corn rustled and hissed in the breeze, and I felt at any moment some crazed killer would come barreling out of the tall stalks with intent to kill us all. I rubbed at my burning eyes, trying to pull myself together from the paranoid and stressed out person that I had become.

  The bus driver talked into his cell phone and was waving his arms around for several minutes before he finally turned to us, the heat of the early afternoon already turning his face a glistening pink.

  "All right, folks! Another bus is on its way from Ottumwa. It'll be here in a few hours. There's a little town about a mile or so back. If you all want, we can make our way back there and the bus line will pay for lunch!" he announced.

  I huffed and pulled my backpack a little higher onto my shoulder. A mile wasn't much, but it was ninety plus degrees and the afternoon sun was blazing down on us with no shade in sight. We set out, and less than five minutes in I was helping the old lady beside me with her bag so she could walk a little easier. It took us about an hour to walk, and by the time we arrived, we were all hot and thirsty.

  The town we had converged upon wasn’t much; it had one main street with only half a dozen storefronts and the one diner beside a deserted gas station. The diner was overwhelmed with us, being able to only handle about half of the bus occupants. I stood
outside with the other travelers, watching as a few cars passed by, the drivers waving to anyone that they passed. But it was the horse and buggies that travelled down the main street that confused me. Sleek black buggies, with strong looking horses would stop at the general store across from me, a man in a light colored shirt and straw brim hat entering the store before coming back out, hands laden with seed or something in large bags. The riders looked like Amish people. But I was pretty sure we were in Iowa. There weren't any Amish people in Iowa, right?

  Who knew?

  Iowa was full of corn and I was more than ready to get on the road again. The town was quaint like some of the coastal towns north of where I lived, but without the rocky beaches and towering redwoods. The blistering sun beat down on me, making my skin pink almost instantly. I had been used to the fog and coastal temperatures. This place was nothing like my past. While it might have been refreshing to stay someplace such as this town for my new start, I had to continue on my way. I needed to get as many miles away from Sean as I could.

  Impatient standing around to wait for a seat in the diner, I followed a couple of my bus mates across the street to the small general store and bought a bottle of water and some interesting looking corn cakes. I settled into one of the rocking chairs on the front porch with a good view of the street out of town. I figured if I could see the bus first, I could get a better seat.

  Texting my sister about the delay, I shook my head at the lack of bars on my phone and wondered if she’d even get the text. This little town was as far removed from modern conveniences as I had ever seen. Tucked away in the quiet and far from the hectic day-to-day dealings of politics and industry. It was quaint.

  I chewed on the corn cake thoughtfully, enjoying the sweetness of it on my empty stomach. I was starving, having not eaten since my first bus transfer in Sacramento and the cakes were delicious. I was working on my second one when another horse and buggy pulled up, this one with a back end full of fruits and vegetables.

  I watched as the man got out of the buggy, his striking red hair shining under his straw hat. His beard was fairly long, but his face looked quite young. He was maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He looked a little like a young Santa Claus, especially with his kind blue eyes as he regarded me when he passed.

  "Pleasant day to you," he said, his deep voice friendly and warm, with a slight accent that made his words almost melodic.

  "Hi," I murmured, not sure how to address this odd stranger.

  The Amish looking man nodded, making his way back into the store and leaving me to my corn cake. He passed by me twice more, his arms laden with baskets of food. On the last pass, he paused, his smile breaking out across his face again while he regarded me.

  "Are you enjoying your cakes?" he asked.

  I looked down to find only a few crumbs left trailing down my shirt and blushed.

  "They were good, yes," I replied, embarrassed by him taking notice of me.

  His eyes brightened and he chuckled.

  "I will make sure my wife learns of your enjoyment. She made them. Pleasant day to you, child," he said as he tipped his straw hat and walked back into the store.

  I couldn’t remember the last time a total stranger spoke with me, let alone in such a friendly and open manner. It made me feel welcome, even though I knew I would never see the man again. I glanced down the road once more, hopeful to see the bus and be on my way. It had been almost two hours and the bus driver had said it wouldn’t be long. Looking down the long expanse of roadway, the road appeared deserted. I stood and stretched, ready to step inside where it was cooler when I caught a reflection in the corner of my eye. A car was coming down the road, shimmering in the heat mirage.

  A sleek and brilliant red Mustang, marred only by the dust from travelling.

  And as it neared, maybe a quarter mile from the city limits, I heard it: the unmistakable muffler that made me tense in fear. Sean was here, the nightmare coming to life as the car rumbled towards the far end of town. Panic coursed through my body while I searched around for somewhere to hide. Sean would surely get out and look around to ask about me only to find out I was here and stranded.

  How had Sean found me? All the way to Iowa from California? After all the bus transfers? Had my dad traced my bankcard? I hadn’t used it since Sacramento, pulling out as much cash as I thought I might need. But with Sean’s father a deputy sheriff, it wouldn’t have been difficult to have him trace my money trail.

  My heart hammered as I searched in vain again for somewhere to hide. Inside the store left me trapped with people who had seen me. The diner was across the street. I felt my body shaking, the panic verging on a full-blown attack. Just as the car moved close enough that I could confirm it was definitely his, I hid in the only safe place where no one would look.

  I hid in the back of the buggy.

  I peeked through the small window as I watched him step out of his car and look around, a cold feeling of dread passing over me. Sean looked like he had been driving non-stop; his usual meticulously spiked black hair messy and windblown. His tight t-shirt was wrinkled along the back, and sweaty from the heat, probably from sitting in his car all those hours. Every muscle on his imposing body seemed tense as he stood there, surveying the town and the people standing outside the diner.

  He looked around briefly, my body tensing as his dark eyes traveled over the buggy I hid in before they scanned past me towards the diner again. He hitched up his jeans on his hips and slowly made his way towards the diner, his normally pouty lips set in a thin, tight line. Sean’s swagger told me he was determined in his mission. He was going to find me, and I would be his, with no one to protect me or stop him from doing whatever he wanted on the return trip.

  There were a lot of ditches and lonely roads between here and McKinleyville, California.

  I trembled in the corner behind the burlap sacks in the buggy, sure that at any moment, the bus driver would nod and point over my way, and Sean, who always seemed to know where I was like a blood hound in the hunt would find me.

  I wasn't prepared for the owner of the buggy to come back so soon.

  "Thank you, Eli! Pleasant day to you! I will be sure to tell Fannie that you need more of her cakes!"

  The buggy rocked slightly as the man climbed up onto his bench seat in front. I heard him make a noise, and the buggy jolted into motion. I bit my palm to keep from crying out; I had no way to escape now, not without raising suspicion and being caught. My heart rose in my throat when the buggy stopped abruptly.

  "Hey man. I'm looking for this girl. Have you seen her?"

  The sound of Sean’s voice made shiver in fear. It was purposeful, direct and commanding. He had never had much in the way of manners when it came to addressing his elders, and I could tell his irritation at having to ask around for me only made him more direct. I slunk further into the darkness amongst the bags and boxes, praying that I couldn’t be seen. It was stifling in the back where I hid; the sweat dripping down my skin as I silently wished the buggy to continue its trek. But the Amish man had seen me and spoken to me. He was sure to tell Sean he had seen me. I clenched my eyes shut and waited for the end.

  "Did you check the diner, son?"

  "Yeah I was heading there. Thanks," Sean muttered and turned away from the man.

  "Pleasant day to you,” the man called out and once more we were moving.

  I tried to hold in my tears, but the stagnant heat and the overwhelming need to escape made it difficult to breathe. I couldn’t hide my yelp when I heard my phone chirp loudly in my pocket. I watched in horror as the Amish man’s head whirled around, his mouth opening up in an exclamation until he saw my fear. His face immediately became more guarded and I could feel the buggy slowing down once more. Sean would see and would wonder why.

  "Please," I pleaded in a strained whisper. "He'll kill me if he finds me. Please, help me."

  "How did you come to be in my buggy, child?" the man asked his voice more authoritative than it had
been when he had spoken to me before.

  "Please. Please, I just need to get away from him. He'll kill me," I pleaded again.

  He pursed his lips and turned to look back out towards the expansive road ahead, licking his bare lips above the gleaming beard. His glance drifted from me to what I assumed was Sean behind us, his eyes thoughtful before he redirected them back to the road where he urged his horses along at a brisk pace.

  "It is not our place to intervene in Englisher troubles, child. But if he is determined to hurt you in some way, I cannot let that be. You have asked for sanctuary. I will offer it to you, for that is our way. I am Jonah Berger, child. And you are?" he asked, his tone suddenly very formal.

  "K-Kate. Katherine Hill, sir.”

  "Welcome to West Grove, Katherine Hill."

  Chapter 2

  I struggled with the hooks on the dress, frustrated at there being no zippers or buttons. This would have been so much easier with my t-shirt and shorts, but I had been told as long as I stayed in their community I had to wear their clothes. A dress whose skirt was much too long for me, and a shift underneath made me sweat just trying to put them on in the heat of the house. I wished regretfully for the fog and chill of home.

  I grimaced at that thought, shaking my head in disbelief that I had actually had the ridiculous idea of to wanting to go back.

  The hooks finally done, I looked around for a mirror. There was none to be found in the room I had changed in and had to wonder if this family didn’t believe in them. They seemed a quiet and guarded group of people. And stuck in the pioneer days, judging by the bonnet I had to wear and the lack of electricity. I knew virtually nothing about the Amish, but I had an idea I was going to learn firsthand by hiding with them. Smoothing my hair into a bun at the base of my neck like I had seen with some of the other women on the road back, I turned to tuck my old belongings into my backpack.