by Perry, Marta
Apparently attracted by the sound of their voices, Caleb came out onto the porch, Rachel trailing behind him. “I’ll be glad to help,” he said.
But it wasn’t Caleb who drew Sara’s eyes. It was Rachel. The child had frozen, her eyes wide, her small face frightened. Slowly she raised her arm, her finger pointing at Mitch Foster.
“Der Alte,” she whispered.
*
Caleb froze for an instant, his mind struggling to accept what he’d heard. Then he snatched Rachel up in his arms, heart pumping furiously.
Foster’s expression didn’t change as he reached into the bed of the pickup. He pulled out a shotgun and aimed it at Caleb.
“Come down off the porch. Now.” He gestured with the weapon. “Right over there.”
Obviously he wanted to keep Caleb from seeking shelter inside the schoolhouse. Could he have done that, leaving Sara standing a scant yard from the gun? He wouldn’t have to find out, it seemed.
Carrying Rachel, her face buried in his shoulder, he came down the steps. His gaze was fixed on Foster’s face, but he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. Sara was grabbing for the weapon.
Foster evaded her easily. “No, I don’t think so, Teacher Sara. You just back up over there with your friends.”
Sara backed slowly away from the barrel of the shotgun. An image filled Caleb’s mind of what Rachel must have seen— Kovatch backing away from the pointed weapon, losing his balance, arms windmilling as he fell.
“You were the one on the cliff,” he said. “Kovatch was trying to get away from you when he fell.”
Foster winced. “It wasn’t like that. Put the little girl down.”
“No.” His arms tightened around his child. He couldn’t do much, but he wouldn’t let her go while he had breath in his body.
Sara changed direction slightly, so that she was between them and the shotgun. “Tell us what happened, Mr. Foster. It was an accident, wasn’t it? We know you didn’t push him.”
Sara sounded so calm, as if they were talking about the new playground equipment instead of a man’s life. She was gaining them time, putting off the moment at which Foster would decide what he was going to do about them.
“No, of course I didn’t push him.” Foster’s face twisted. “I wouldn’t do that. He...he just wouldn’t listen to sense. He kept taking more and more risks.”
“You were just trying to get him to listen,” Sara said, holding Foster’s attention.
“That’s right.” He sounded relieved that she understood. “That’s how it was.”
Caleb shifted Rachel slightly in his arms. He couldn’t run with her. They wouldn’t stand a chance that way. But if he could shove her into the buggy and slap the mare, there was a chance of getting Rachel away. Please, God.
“We were arguing, that was all.” Foster was intent on explaining himself to Sara. “I wanted to stop. I knew it was too dangerous. At first it was so easy—just slipping a few extra items into the truck when I was shipping something out. No risk. But Jase was greedy. He didn’t understand what I have to lose—my business, my good name...”
Caleb moved a cautious step closer to the buggy, measuring the distance with his eyes. Another step or two would do it.
“So his death was an accident,” Sara said. She seemed to sense what Caleb was doing, and she moved slightly, keeping Foster focused on her. “You weren’t to blame.”
“That’s right. He just fell. I wouldn’t have done anything with the shotgun. I only carried it so if someone spotted me it would look as if I was out after rabbits. But he fell. I looked down, and there was nothing I could do for him. Then I saw the little girl on the playground, watching.”
“You didn’t know who it was,” Sara said.
“They all looked alike. That was the trouble.” His voice took on a complaining quality. “I wanted an excuse to be around the school so I could figure it out, so I thought up that business about the playground. But I still couldn’t tell which kid it was, and I was afraid to get too close.”
“You sent Sammy Moore to try to find out.” Caleb could hear the strain in Sara’s voice. How much longer could she hang on? He edged a little closer, lifting Rachel slightly. He didn’t dare try to whisper an explanation. She’d be afraid.
“Sammy’s an idiot. I should have known better than to trust him with anything. All he wanted was to scare you. I have to do everything myself.”
“Not this,” Sara said. She held out her hand to him, the way she would to a frightened child. “You weren’t to blame for what happened to Kovatch. But if you harm a child...” Her voice shook with emotion. “Don’t you see? That’s not the kind of man you are. There’s no going back from that. You’ll have no future left at all.”
It had to be now. Caleb lifted Rachel, his muscles tensing for a lunge toward the buggy.
At that moment Foster turned to them. Caleb’s eyes met his, and he froze, his precious daughter still in his arms. Foster held the shotgun for a moment that seemed to last forever. Then he dropped it and buried his face in his hands, sobs shaking his frame.
All the breath went out of Caleb. He thrust Rachel into Sara’s arms and grabbed the shotgun. He thrust it under the buggy seat. A moment later he had his arms around Sara and Rachel both, his mind filled with incoherent prayers.
TEN
It was Monday before classes resumed at the Beaver Creek School. Somewhat to her surprise, Sara was there to greet her scholars as they arrived.
Still, what else could have happened? Silas might have made more of a fuss with the other board members, but since he was the person who’d supported Mitch Foster’s proposal about the playground, he’d apparently decided that the least said, the soonest mended.
Even as she greeted each scholar and answered parents’ questions as briefly as she could, Sara realized she was watching for Caleb and Rachel.
She’d thought, in those moments when they’d held each other, that they’d expressed something more than relief that they were all still alive. But since she hadn’t seen anything of Caleb since then, it appeared she’d been wrong.
“So, did you hear that the police caught up with that Sammy Moore?” Her brother helped Becky down from the buggy seat and leaned across to ask the question.
“No. Where did you hear that?” Relief chased the final remnant of apprehension from her thoughts.
“I had it from Chief O’Brian himself. He hailed me when I was coming through town and said to let you know. State police arrested him out on the interstate, he said. So you don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not worrying.” She really wasn’t. In those terrible moments of facing the shotgun, she’d known what it was to trust in God’s care, living or dying. Whatever happened, it was God’s will.
“Teacher Sara, might I talk with you for a moment?”
Her breath caught at the sound of Caleb’s voice, and she struggled to greet him and Rachel normally. “Ya, of course. I’m glad to see you this morning, Rachel.”
Rachel looked up at her, a smile lighting her small face. “Teacher Sara, guess what? Daed says that I can go to Becky’s house to spend the night on Friday.”
“Ach, I’ll get no sleep that night for all the giggling,” Isaac said, grinning at her. “We’re sure glad you’ll komm, Rachel.” He snapped the lines, and his buggy rolled on. Rachel and Becky ran off, hand in hand, toward the swings.
“She is looking very happy this morning,” Sara said, watching her. “Any more nightmares?”
“Not one.” Caleb touched her elbow lightly. “Do you think if we walked around the side of the building we could talk while you watch the kinner on the playground?”
“Ya, of course.” She tried not to speculate as to what Caleb had to say. God’s will, she reminded herself.
They stopped in a spot where the autumn sunshine reflected off the white schoolhouse, warming them. She glanced up into his face, not sure what she was reading there.
Caleb frowned a little, studyi
ng the ground. “Rachel and I have done a lot of talking these last few days. It was important that she understand that the bad men wouldn’t be around to trouble any of us.”
“Ya, that is important. It looks as if you were able to reassure her.”
He glanced toward his daughter. “It’s not just that. After everything that happened, I...well, I got to thinking maybe you were right about talking to Rachel. About her mamm, I mean.”
Sara nodded, not sure how to respond.
“So I tried.” He sucked in a long breath and turned to face her. “My little Rachel...” His voice broke. “She got it into her head that she’d done something wrong and that was why her mamm died. How could she think something like that? Why didn’t I see?”
Her heart ached for the pain in his voice. “Maybe you were too close to it. And you had your own grief to deal with.”
“You saw it. I should have.”
Dismissing the talk it would cause if someone noticed, Sara clasped his hand. “You did your best, Caleb. That’s all any of us can do. The rest is in God’s hands.”
He pressed his lips together for a moment, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. Then he gave a curt nod.
“You were right. I couldn’t run away from the past by coming here. A new start wasn’t the answer to our grief.” He paused. “Danki, Sara.” His voice was thick. “You helped us.”
“I’m glad.” She had to force herself to smile. “Does that mean you are going to move back home again?” She held her breath, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“We won’t be going anywhere. We’ve found a home here.” His voice was firm. “Onkel Josiah wants us to stay. He wants me to take over the farm. I think it’s the right future for us.”
“That’s gut. I’m glad.” Whether she was to have any part in that future or not, she would be happy for them.
Suddenly he was holding her hands in both of his, his gaze steady on her face, and it seemed she couldn’t breathe at all. “I’m thinking maybe it’s the right future for all of us, Sara. What do you think?”
Sara couldn’t speak. She could only nod, her heart filling with love. They would not rush, she knew. They would get to know each other better and give Rachel time to get used to the idea.
But as Caleb raised her hands to his lips, she knew what the end would be. They would be together, forever.
*
Dear Reader, Writing a suspense story set in an Amish community carries with it a set of challenges, since nonviolence is such an integral part of Amish faith. Maybe that’s why we as readers find the stories so intriguing—it’s a sharp contrast between the peaceful, pastoral lives of most Amish and the sometimes violent outside world.
Sara Esch is a compilation of many teachers I’ve been fortunate enough to know—people who are dedicated to the welfare of the children entrusted to their care, even to the extent of risking their lives.
I hope you enjoy my story. I’d be happy to send you a signed bookmark and my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. Just email me at [email protected], check in with me through my website, www.martaperry.com, or my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/martaperrybooks, or write to me at Love Inspired, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Blessings,
Marta Perry
Questions for Discussion
Did you understand Sara’s special concern for Rachel in the opening of the story? How have you seen children react when they’re afraid to talk about something?
Caleb’s initial reaction to Rachel’s nightmares was to blame them on the teacher. Did you understand his reaction, even though you might feel he was wrong?
Did you sympathize with Caleb’s struggle to protect his child? Did you think he was right or wrong to try to keep her from talking to the police? Why?
The scripture verse for this story has been one of my favorites since I was a child. What special meaning do you find in these words?
Why is it so difficult to follow a belief in nonviolence in today’s world? Do you sympathize with the Amish principles or feel they are wrong? Why?
Dangerous Homecoming
Diane Burke
I would like to thank Marta Perry and Kit Wilkinson for the opportunity to share this anthology with them, and I sincerely hope I held up my end of the task.
I would also like to thank Tina James, editor extraordinaire, who uses her talents to teach me how to be a better writer.
As water reflects a face, so a man’s heart reflects the man.
—Proverbs 27:19
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEAR READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
The paper shook in Katie Lapp’s trembling fingers. She read the message. Dread crept over her like an encompassing fog.
Please, Lord! Not again.
Her eyes made a sweeping glance of the land between her white clapboard house and the barn.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
The sun, beginning to rise on this crisp autumn morning, shed light on the harvested, empty fields. Katie’s eyes searched every shadow, every tree.
No one was there.
She looked back at the paper and resisted the urge to drop it like she would a poisonous snake. It had been nailed to the post of the house steps. Just like the first two.
Katie’s heart hammered. Her pulse quickened. A familiar tightening seized her chest and her breathing became more difficult. She slid her hand beneath her white apron and withdrew an inhaler from the pouch she had pinned to her dress.
Calm down. Remember what the doctor said. Stress will only make your asthma worse.
She clutched the inhaler in her right hand. Her other hand, the note tightly clenched in her fist, fell to her side. Hating her dependency on this medical necessity, she tried to prevent the impending asthma attack by using mind over matter. She forced herself to slow her short gasps of air and concentrated on each and every breath.
Katie closed her eyes. Although she tried to think of nothing but pulling air into her lungs, the threatening word on this third note had branded itself on her mind.
Her chest continued to tighten. Each breath was now an effort.
Please, Lord, I need to calm myself. Grant me peace.
She had to distract her thoughts from the paper still clutched in her hand.
Katie closed her eyes and tried to picture the large pond at the edge of her property. She willed herself to remember the feel of the sun on her face. She tried to remember the feel of the breeze against her skin.
Breathe in.
Now slowly exhale.
That’s right. You can do it. Again.
In...
God surrounded his children with beauty and tranquility no farther away than nature. If she could just stop being so afraid...
Out.
Katie could almost smell the clean scent of a freshly mowed field, almost hear the sound of water lapping against the shore.
Peace filled her body and the painful constriction in her chest began to ease. Her heart no longer raced. Her lungs no longer made her fight for breath.
With God’s help, all things are possible.
With a sigh of relief, Katie shoved the inhaler into her pouch along with the note, which had started the whole asthma thing in the first place. She had chores to tend to. She didn’t have any more time to waste on things she couldn’t do anything about.
What else could she do? Report a scrawled word on a piece of paper to the police? Somehow she didn’t think they would take it seriously. Tell the bishop? She knew that was exactly what she should do, particularly after what had happened to her fields, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
The
bishop had been trying for the past year to persuade her to remarry. He did not approve of a widow living alone and trying to run a farm.
Katie glanced at the puckered skin on her left wrist. Jacob was dead and he’d never be able to hurt her again. The redness from the burn had faded over the past year; the scars, both physical and emotional, had not.
No. Marriage was not a consideration. Not ever again if she had anything to say about it.
Entering the barn, she lit three oil lamps, basking the interior in a warm yellow glow. She opened the slide latch to the stall, put a halter on the closest horse and then repeated the process for the next two horses. She gathered the leads and guided them out of the barn, turning them out into the paddock.
When she returned to the barn, Katie placed the mouth of her wheelbarrow opposite the open door to make it easier to push the load outside. Grabbing her pitchfork, she mucked out the first stall. But as hard as she worked, she couldn’t draw her mind away from the note crumpled in her pouch.
Who would do such a thing? Why?
Was there any possibility it might be a teenage prank? Even in rumspringa, when Amish teenagers were known for their less-than-stellar behavior, it would be out of character for any of them to purposely frighten a widow. She knew all of the teenagers in her small district. She shook her head. No. None of them could do such a thing.
Besides, the destruction of her crops was not a prank. It was a warning. Fear shivered down her spine. A warning she took seriously. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
A shaft of morning sunlight filtered through the open door announcing the arrival of dawn. Katie doused the lamps. As she returned to her chores, the note in her pouch called to her as surely as if it had a voice. Unable to ignore it anymore, she withdrew the wrinkled paper and read it again.
A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. How could one simple word make her so afraid? One word chill her to the bone? She ran her fingers over the crude block letters and read the word aloud.
