by Perry, Marta
And Joseph prayed that it would. He prayed so hard.
*
Lydia came to with a start. One look around the smelly van she’d been thrown into and she knew it was a service truck. She tried to sit up but she had been bound at the wrists and ankles with heavy-duty plastic zip ties. The van traveled fast and made sharp turns. She fought in vain to keep upright, but mostly, she struggled to keep from hurting herself against the bread racks and other storage areas.
With some difficulty, she peeked through the small glass window between the front cab and the back of the van. Mr. Bowman, the restaurant owner, was at the wheel.
Lydia slid back against the side of the van. Mr. Bowman? What could he possibly want with her?
All afternoon, everyone had hoped the terror was over with the arrest of Kevin Watson. Did they have it all wrong? Lydia prayed and she prayed hard.
She should have been trembling. But for the first time in a long time, she felt peace. She thought of her mother, and of Joseph, and of all this time she’d closed herself off—afraid of her own feelings, afraid of loving again, afraid of being hurt. Tears of release spilled onto her cheeks.
Lydia lowered her head between her bound hands. Whatever happens today, I have learned this lesson—I am not afraid. God, You have taken all my fear. And if I ever see Joseph again, I will tell him. I will tell him that I love him and that I’m not afraid. It won’t matter if he loves me back or not.
Lydia knew God would take care of her. Of course, she’d known it all along, but she hadn’t felt it. She hadn’t lived it. Her mother had been right. Her fears had stopped her. But no more.
Suddenly, the van came to a screeching halt. Mr. Bowman got out and walked around to the back.
“Hello again, pretty lady.” He opened the back doors, grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her out of the vehicle.
Lydia hit the ground hard. And she knew exactly where she was. She’d been there five years ago on the worst night of her life. Tucker’s Pond.
“Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”
“I want to get rid of you before you ruin everything. Just like Billy. Stupid ingrate. After all I did for him. I made him rich. He had girls. He made a fortune selling my drugs. He had anything he wanted.” Bowman picked her up again, carried her to the edge of the pond and tossed her down in the grass.
“We thought it was Kevin who killed Billy. But all along it was you?”
“Kevin? That little twit would do anything I told him to. But he’s a weakling. Good riddance. I thought he could be like Billy. But they all turn on you in the end.”
“Why would you tell Kevin to kill Billy? What did Billy do to you?”
“He found out about my— Oh, stop with all of your stupid questions. You’re giving me a headache. You’ll figure it out soon enough.” He turned back to the van. A moment later he came back with a bottle of water, a small brown lunch bag, and a set of large dumbbells and a rope.
Fear and darkness tried to surround her again. But Lydia fought it away. She looked up and faced him.
“You know Billy didn’t tell us anything the night he died? You’ve been running around scaring us half to death for no reason at all. We don’t know anything.”
“For someone who doesn’t know anything, you sure do talk a lot.” He sat down on the ground next to her and pulled a plastic bag filled with powder from the brown sack. He paused for a quick moment and looked into her eyes. Lydia could see that same savage look that Billy had had the night he died. “You’re going to feel so good, Amish girl,” he said. “Just like the others. I made them feel so good. The first time wasn’t planned, of course. Billy called me. Scared to death asking me what to do about Alexandra. He had made her sick with too much alcohol and one of those party drugs. I came here. I gave her something that made her feel all better. I loved watching her find that place of peace. My mother always told me when young girls were troubled, I should help them. Help end their suffering before they grow up. You’re troubled, too, aren’t you?”
“No. I am not troubled.” Lydia jerked away from his hand that tried to stroke her on the wrist. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Now, you aren’t telling the truth, young lady.” He shook his head in a scolding manner. “I know your father left you. I know that Joseph Yoder left you. You might be the most troubled of them all. Well, don’t worry. Today, I’ll take all of that away.” He touched her face and smiled. Them he poured the powder into the bottle of water and shook to mix it.
He was right. There was no mistaking his plan. His actions were rehearsed, memorized, habitual. He was going to drug her and send her to the bottom of the pond. He’d done it before. It sickened Lydia to think of it.
She turned away. If God willed her to be at the bottom of that pond, then so be it. It was only the flesh. Her spirit would live on. “I’m not afraid of you. You can’t hurt me. But I do have a question.”
“Another question? What’s that?”
“If Billy knew all along that you killed Alexandra after the overdose, why did you wait to kill him five years later?”
“You’re smarter than you look.” He laughed. “Billy didn’t know about Alexandra until a month ago. He thought I gave her a bunch of money and that she ran away from home. But then he found my—he found one of my keepsakes.” He took the prayer kapp from her head. He held it gently in his hands. “Like this. From you, I will keep this. This is perfect.”
“How many others, Mr. Bowman? How many women’s lives did you steal?”
“I didn’t steal their lives. I saved them.”
“Only God can save.”
“Drink the water.” She had angered him to the edge now. He stood and forced the drugged water into her mouth.
Lydia turned and pressed herself facedown on the ground. It knocked the water from his hands.
He fumed. He grabbed the bottle from the grass, turned her over and forced the drink back to her lips. “You will drink this.”
“I will not foul my body with your drugs, Mr. Bowman.” She spit the drink from her mouth.
“You...” He lifted his hand to strike her but stopped. There was a sound in the distance.
A very familiar sound—a siren. Help was on the way! Lydia closed her eyes and thanked God.
Mr. Bowman cursed under his breath and, with one last look at her, turned and made a run for the van. He sped away, his tires spitting dirt and gravel back at her face. She watched as he drove like a madman to the far edge of the woods. A dark sedan pulled up and blocked his path. He slammed hard on his brakes then hopped out of his van and made a run for the woods. Lydia wanted to scream. But as if placed there by God’s hands, Macy and his men came from behind the trees. They were on him and toppled him to the ground.
*
Joseph fled from the patrol car as soon as it stopped. Macy and his men had Mr. Bowman at the edge of the woods. But where was Lydia?
He ran to the back of the service van, but it was empty. Were they too late?
Joseph’s eyes scanned the woods to the shoreline of the pond. At long last, he saw a blur of blue and white near the water. Lydia. She had worn a blue frock today.
Joseph ran to her as fast as his legs could go. He fell to his knees beside her at the water’s edge. A bottle of water lay spilled out at her side. “Lydia, please be okay...”
She turned to his voice. A beautiful smile covered her face. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Kevin. He told Macy about it all. Billy had just found out, too. That’s why—”
“I know. Mr. Bowman thought Billy told us, too.”
Joseph nodded. He loosened the bindings around her hands and feet and tore them away. He pulled her up. His arms went around her waist and he hugged her close. It was perfect. She was perfect. He would never let go of her again. “It’s all over now. We are safe.”
“I don’t want you to leave again, Joseph.” She was crying and clung tight to his shoulders. “I want people to sta
y in my life. I want you to stay in my life, however that may be. I love you. I have always loved you. I was just afraid. But I’m not anymore. Can you forgive me for not reading your letters nor trying to understand why you left?”
He placed his hand on her chin and lifted her face to his. “If you can forgive me for leaving without talking to you first.”
“I already have.” She smiled. “I love you, Joseph. Even if you go back to Indiana, I will still love you.”
“I love you, too.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “And I won’t ever let go of you again, Lydia. That is, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me, Lydia Stoltz?”
“Yes, yes, I will. I will marry you.”
He kissed her forehead. He kissed her cheeks. He couldn’t stop the huge smile that covered his face. But Lydia pulled away.
Her head dropped and the elated look from her eyes turned pensive and strained. Joseph’s heart sank. Had she already changed her mind?
“I suppose we could sell the farm,” she said.
“And why would you do that?” Joseph pressed his forehead against hers the way he used to do when they were young. He rubbed his nose against hers. “I want to stay here, don’t you?”
“But I thought you had to—”
“No. It’s all settled. I’m going to work for Bishop Miller.”
Lydia looked fast into his eyes, as if she could not believe his words. “And when were you going to tell me this?”
He smiled and pulled her tighter. “As soon as you remembered that you are in love with me.”
Beautiful happy tears streamed over her cheeks. He kissed each one.
“I’ll never leave you, Lydia. I never did, you know. My heart was right here all along.”
She nodded. “Oh, Joseph. Yours was here and mine was with you. I think they are better off together.”
“Me, too.”
“So, kiss me again, Joseph Yoder.”
And he did. He kissed his Lydia softly and promised both her and God that he would kiss her every day in just this way and remember this moment when God brought them back together.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from THREAD OF SUSPICION by Susan Sleeman.
Dear Reader, Thank you for reading Return to Willow Trace. I hope you enjoyed Joseph and Lydia’s adventurous reunion. I thought it would be interesting to create a story with characters who had been in love with each other since childhood. As I wrote the story, I thought of these characters as I do of many admirable couples who meet early in life. I have always envied the thought of a soul mate as one’s first love.
It was great fun working on this project and I am excited to have begun working on a new Amish suspense. Please join me for more Willow Trace stories and other tales of romantic suspense at www.kitwilkinson.com. Or write to me at [email protected]. I love to hear from readers.
Many Blessings, Kit Wilkinson
Questions for Discussion
Joseph’s character is a bit of a twist on the prodigal-son figure. Instead of leaving home to avoid responsibility and family duties, Joseph goes hoping to please his parents. Discuss the differences in the lessons of the prodigal-son story and those of Joseph. Which son suffers more?
Most of Lydia’s struggles with Joseph are due to a lack of effective communication. If Joseph and Lydia were not Amish, thus using more modern and direct methods to be in touch with one another, would there still be issues between them? Why or why not?
Lydia is afraid to love because of her father’s abandonment. Have you ever missed out on love or another opportunity because of fear? What was the regret, if any? Did you overcome this fear or do you still avoid certain situations?
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment” 1 John 4:18. How did Lydia punish herself? What do you think perfect love is? Is this something you give or get? Is it both? Do you think Lydia would have realized her fears without her mother’s help?
Billy Ferris is both somewhat of a villain and a hero. After making so many bad choices in his young life, he dies trying to reveal who Mr. Bowman really is. Discuss his role in the story. What events do you feel he is responsible for? What other things might have happened with or without Billy’s role? In the end, do you find him to be more of a soft villain or more of a tragic hero?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.
You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.
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ONE
Luke Baldwin’s training as a Navy SEAL warned him he was in trouble. To pay attention, be still and take precautions. But darkness clawed at his senses, keeping him from fully waking and heeding the warning.
Hoping to get his bearings, he concentrated on the sounds unfolding around him. Cars whizzed by. Horns honked. If he were home in bed where he should be, he’d hear the quiet of suburban life, not Portland’s bustling traffic.
Digging deeper, he managed to pry his eyes open and look around. He sat behind the wheel of his battered Jeep Wrangler tipped at an angle in the ditch with the hood pressed against an enormous Oregon pine. Thick underbrush had swallowed up his car and spindly pines swayed overhead in icy winds.
“What in the world?” He shook his head to clear his mind. Razor-sharp pain stabbed between his eyes. He let the lids fall, hoping to end the blinding intensity. Nausea curled his stomach and burned up his throat as the damp cold of winter seeped to his bones.
How had he ended up in the ditch?
C’mon, Baldwin, think.
He breathed deeply, letting oxygen rush to his brain and stem the nausea. Clarity tugged the edges of his mind, then suddenly it all came flooding back.
He’d been driving home in the wee hours of the morning to grab a quick shower before today’s demonstration of his company’s software. The roads were slick with rain, and fog hovered over the pavement. Driving too fast for the conditions, he’d felt his car start to slide. He’d pumped the brakes. The pedal had sunk to the floor with no resistance. His car had left the pavement, slipping into the ditch and ramming the tree. With no airbags, his head had slammed into the wheel and everything had gone black.
His ancient Jeep had failed him again. Of course it had. It was on its last legs and needed replacing. He should get a better car. One with reliable brakes and airbags. Not happening, though. He’d poured all of his money into his company.
Wait. Company. What time is it?
He glanced at his watch: 1030 hours.
No! Couldn’t be. He’d be late for the demonstration.
He released his belt and dug out his cell phone. Dead.
“No, no, no!” He pounded the wheel, the lancing pain slicing up his arm and into his already throbbing head.
Just what he deserved for failing his staff. His software company vied for a multimillion-dollar military contract today at 1100 hours. He could kiss the money and his company goodbye if he didn’t show up.
Not an option for a SEAL, even a former one.
He forced open his door, the bent metal groaning and creaking. He stumbled out. Rain spit from the gray winter skies, dampening his mood even more. He grabbed fistfuls of grass and pulled his aching body up to the winding road leading into Portland. He waved at cars, hoping to flag one down, but they sped past as if he were invisible. He’d have to hoof i
t down the hill to the coffee shop where he got his caffeine fix every morning. They knew him and would let him use their phone.
He hunched into his jacket to fight the wind whistling down the hill and jogged down the road. Ignoring the pain pulsing through his body, he settled into the zone he’d often found as a SEAL after silently dropping behind enemy lines. His mind floated free, and oddly, his father’s voice rang in his head.
So you screwed up again. I knew you’d never amount to anything.
Maybe his father was right. He was a screwup. He’d failed most everyone who mattered in his thirty-four years on this earth. His mother, his older sister—both of them killed in a fire set by his crazed father. His fiancée, Wendy, who’d wanted more from him and had every right to expect it before she’d bailed two years ago. And Hawk. Poor Hawk.
Luke flashed back to Afghanistan, to before he’d left the SEALs to be close to his only living sister, Natalie. Insurgents had rushed his SEAL team—guns blazing in the night, his buddy Hawk falling and never getting up again. All courtesy of an intercepted satellite phone call. Luke had held Hawk as he took his dying breath and made a promise to prevent other soldiers’ deaths because of satphone security issues. So he’d founded SatCom with Hawk’s little brother, Timothy Revello, and their dream was moments from becoming a reality.
If Luke made it to the office before he broke that promise.
He upped his speed and soon swung into the coffee shop, heat instantly cocooning him as the scent of aromatic java perked him up. The owner stood behind the long mahogany bar, a line of customers waiting for their drinks. With no time to wait in line, Luke approached Earl.
Earl placed a cup in front of a young woman, then looked up. “Man, Baldwin. You look rough.”
Luke’s chest burned from exertion, but he managed to say, “Need your phone, Earl. Car and cell dead. Need to call a cab.”
Earl grabbed a cordless phone and a laminated cardstock listing local phone numbers, then slapped them on the counter with a solid whack. “Want your usual when the line gets down?”
