Once home, Joshua turned on the spigot in the barn to water his beef cattle, troubled at the talk amongst several more of the men. A growing number believed someone must contact the police if Sarah wasn’t found by nightfall. The bishop had made yet another point of declaring God’s sovereignty. “It won’t matter if we bring in Englischers or not, the outcome will be the same,” he’d stated.
The men in question had bowed their heads, saying no more. The consensus was to heed their bishop.
Joshua was bone tired as he pondered all that had transpired, wondering how Maryanna was holding up. He imagined her look of happiness if he were to bring Sarah home to her. Ever since last night when the search began, he’d wanted to bring gut news—nothing like the heartrending news he’d delivered nearly three years ago.
He felt another twinge of guilt, the kind that occurred whenever he remembered the past, and he had to push it away. Maryanna didn’t hold him responsible for Benuel’s death. How many times had he told himself that? What had happened that day couldn’t have been helped. Nonetheless, not a day passed that he didn’t miss his dear friend, as close even as a twin brother.
Ach, so many losses. Benuel, Suzanne, and now . . . dear Lord God, please don’t add young Sarah to the list.
A few minutes later, Joshua heard the barn door slide open. He was a bit surprised to see Tobias Esh standing in the blinding sunlight. “Hullo there,” he called to the boy. “C’mon inside.”
“I seen you were back.” Tobias pulled hard on the barn door to close it.
“Saw,” Joshua corrected him.
“Jah, sorry. I can’t remember gut grammar.”
Joshua patted his shoulder. “The minute I’m finished here, I’ll be back out lookin’ for your sister. Retracing every step I took last night and this mornin’, too.”
Tobias hooked his thumbs on his black suspenders and looked up at him. “Thought you might’ve found her by now.” His voice sounded so forlorn, Joshua had to swallow to keep his own sentiments in check. In fact, he turned momentarily to conceal them. Then Tobias added, “I’d like to go along.”
“Well, I’m not sure what your Mamma’d say to that.”
“She won’t know, ’cause she’s resting.”
This was a desperate boy. “I still think it’s best you tell her where you’re goin’. . . given the situation.”
“You honestly think I’d get myself lost like little Sarah?” Tobias pushed out his lower lip.
“Nee.” Joshua shook his head. “I know better.”
“I ain’t a little child . . . and I certainly ain’t a girl.”
Joshua was mindful not to smile. “No, you’re a determined young man, and I understand you want to help.”
“I surely do.” Tobias leaned over. “Mamma would never let me go.”
“Then you best not.”
“But we have to find Sarah. Mamma won’t be able to keep goin’ without my baby sister. I just know it.” Tobias shook his head. “Please, won’t ya just take me, too? We’ll be back before Mamma even knows.”
Torn between the pleas of his young friend and the fact that Maryanna Esh would never forgive him, Joshua put his hand on Tobias’s shoulder. “Listen to me, son. . . .”
Tobias frowned severely, his eyes glistening.
“I want ya to pay attention.” Brushing aside his slip, Joshua proceeded to remind Tobias of the pain his poor mother had suffered during the past few years, including now, with Sarah’s disappearance. “And what kind of people do ya think we’d be to add even a speck of worry to your Mamma’s load?”
Tobias wiped his eyes with the back of his arm, and for the longest time he was quiet other than a few sniffles.
“I’m not belittling your desire to help,” Joshua added. “Begreife—understand?”
Toby stared at him, the first time Joshua had witnessed the slightest hint of defiance in the lad. And then, ever so slowly, Toby’s expression softened and he nodded his head. “All right, then. I’ll stay put at home. Like ya said to.”
“Thattaboy,” Joshua said, his heart heavy as Maryanna’s sympathetic son rose, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, and turned toward the barn door. Before he left, though, Tobias looked back at him and their eyes locked. It was then that Joshua realized he’d acted on behalf of his gut friend Benuel—Toby’s father wouldn’t have wanted to risk adding further worry to Maryanna. Not for the world.
And neither did Joshua.
Maryanna gazed out the tall window across the bedroom, attempting to rest. She’d left the green shade up, needing the consolation of the blue sky. As a child, she’d often thought of a clear sky as a promise of good things to come. She sighed as her chest rose and fell. Her head pounded from lack of sleep and the misery of yearning. “Oh, Lord, please . . . I must have my little daughter home again,” she murmured. “How will I live, otherwise?”
She’d recalled the day of Sarah’s birth a dozen times or more since her disappearance. The miniscule weight of her darling newborn in her arms—where she longed for her girl to be now. The cuddly way her Boppli looked up at her, hazy blue eyes still learning to focus. Benuel had been near, sitting just across the room from her until Mattie had placed the tiny pink body on her own. Benuel had stepped over quickly, sliding his hand beneath Maryanna’s head as he kissed first her lips, then their baby’s pretty round head.
She rolled over and closed her eyes. Now their last babe was gone, and she didn’t know where.
How could I let this happen? She’d asked herself the question in various ways, gasping under the weight of guilt. One thing was certain—such a thing wouldn’t have happened if Benuel were alive. Nor perhaps if her children had a good and loving stepfather.
Not until today had Maryanna considered the notion that she was depriving her children of a man to be their covering under almighty God—a father to love and protect her children. Truth be told, they needed someone to look up to and obey, and someone to call Dat. Especially since it seems their mother hasn’t done such a good job, she thought, letting the tears roll down her face. I’ve failed them miserably.
“Thy will be done” came to mind again, and she felt as if she’d failed the Lord, as well. Had she made little Sarah an idol in her heart, binding herself up in what Sarah wanted or needed—Sarah’s antics? Did she live her life to please her little one, like Abraham of old, who struggled to give up his hold on Isaac?
Do I adore my youngest child more than God?
In that moment, Maryanna knew what the Lord required of her. Too weary to get up and kneel, she folded her hands and lay prone before her Father in heaven, praying silently. I am willing to release my daughter Sarah to you, O God, entrusting her completely to you. I do this with your help and yours alone, through your only Son, Jesus Christ, my Lord. . . .
Chapter 11
Using the house phone, Jodi once more dialed the nonemergency number for the police department. Since Scott hadn’t immediately returned her call, she’d leave her cell phone open. He and Paige were most likely enjoying the sun and surf on the Oregon coast.
While Jodi was put on hold to speak to an officer, her cell phone rang—it was George Stringer, her gregarious middle-aged principal. Deciding she might be on hold for an eternity, she answered her cell, hoping an officer wouldn’t answer while she took George’s call.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Jodi. George Stringer here. How are you?”
“Doing well. How’s your summer going?”
“Could be better,” he said. “So I hear you’re in Pennsylvania. Are you enjoying Amish country?”
She filled him in quickly on why she’d come, and they exchanged a few more casual remarks.
Then he paused, exhaling into the phone. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Now what? she thought, remembering the dreaded third-fourth teaching combo.
“The district is cutting back across the board,” he explained. “It can’t be helped. And I want you to know I tried my be
st to spare your job.”
No . . . not my teaching position!
Jodi did her best to take the staggering news like a professional. Somehow she managed to calmly express her disappointment. “I’ll really miss working with you, George, and all the teachers at the school,” she said, realizing in that moment how proud her father would be of her . . . for taking the high road when she wanted to grovel and plead and ask if there wasn’t something she could do to save her first-ever teaching job. But she kept her tone respectful.
She fought back tears, wishing she’d had one more year under her belt so tenure might have saved her. But instead she was discovering the meaning of “last in, first out.”
“I know you’d be very welcome in the district as a regular substitute,” George mentioned. “If you choose to take that route.”
A sub when I was so close to tenure? Talk about starting over!
She thanked him, not really interested in considering that course, then said good-bye. No, she still hoped she could land another full-time position in a nearby district before school began.
While the little girl slept, Jodi cradled the house phone under her chin, still waiting for someone, anyone to pick up and take her call at the police station. She occupied herself by sending texts on her cell phone to several of her closest teacher friends . . . and to Trent. To think she had been so very proud of her first-year work ethic and teaching abilities.
If only it weren’t so late in the summer. All the same, Jodi was anything but a quitter. Tonight she’d get busy tweaking her resume and send it out all over New England.
It struck her as ironic that Trent had taken leave of his tenured position to teach overseas. It was almost as if he had two jobs, and she had none.
Within minutes, she had responses from three of her teacher friends in Arlington, declaring their school day would never be as stimulating or fun without her. Besides, who’s going to bring healthy snacks to get us through the day? wrote another. But none of them truly understood the sting of sadness and disillusionment Jodi felt.
Trent texted her next. Hon, I know how upset you must be.
She returned the message, saying she hoped to pick up some subbing for a while, if nothing else. And who knows, if I hurry, maybe I can still line something up. But I really dislike the idea of moving.
He didn’t text back right away, and she sat quietly considering her principal’s call. George Stringer had been such an encourager from the very first time she interviewed with him. And not only to her, but to the entire staff. She could only imagine how amazing things might be at this moment had she begun her teaching career earlier, straight out of college, and not opted to first get her master’s degree in child psychology.
Jodi wondered how her parents might respond when she informed them of her lousy news. But that would have to wait until she’d had some time to process this for herself.
Suddenly, the house phone clicked off, giving way to a dial tone. She’d been disconnected! Determined to speak to someone, she dialed again, this time getting a busy signal.
Jodi forced air out of her mouth—she’d try again in five minutes. Carefully, she rose from her comfortable spot, not wanting to awaken the exhausted little girl. She wandered about the living room, then down the hallway, still in a daze, thinking of all the creative plans she’d made for her third graders—interactive bulletin boards ready to assemble; thematic centers for science, art, and writing; even a cozy rug for a reading nook—all stored in her apartment back in Arlington.
It’s not the end of the world, she told herself. But if not, why did she feel such panic?
Jodi’s gaze fell on the preschooler on the couch as she meandered back into the living room. Surely it was unreasonable to be so upset about losing a job when a mother somewhere out there had lost her child.
But she’s safe, Jodi thought, staring at the girl. And she’ll be home soon.
Jodi slipped away to the main-level guest room where she was sleeping and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off her disappointment. I can’t let this get me down, she thought, noticing for the first time a lovely carved plaque across from her, near the chest of drawers. How had she missed seeing this? “Trust the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own understanding. . . .”
One of Karen’s favorite verses. But spotting it now jolted her. “ ‘And do not rely on your own understanding,’ ” Jodi said softly, refusing more tears. It would not do for her to seem despondent when she returned to the living room and the lost little girl.
———
Back in the living room, Jodie used her cousin’s phone to dial the police station, only to again be put on hold. She felt she might lose her wits, considering everything that had transpired this morning. She glanced at the youngster, who’d awakened and was presently sitting next to the cat on the living room floor, still wrapped in her towel. In spite of everything, Jodi had to smile as she listened to her talk soothingly to Gigi in her own language, leaning her head down to nearly touch the cat’s nose with her own.
Lost in thought, Jodi started when her cell phone rang and Scott’s number appeared.
She hung up the house phone and promptly answered her cell. “Am I ever glad you called!”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
She filled him in on finding the child and calling the police station for advice. “But I haven’t been able to connect with anyone yet.”
“Do you think she might be abandoned?” Scott’s voice was solemn.
“I wondered that, too. But it’s hard to believe.”
“Well, why?”
“She’s just so beautiful . . . absolutely darling. And anyway, who would desert a child?” She watched the little sweetie pat Gigi’s tummy. “And while she’s worn out and hungry, she looks like she’s used to being fed well. Yet on the other hand, when I found her, she was barefoot and without clothes.”
“Really?”
Jodi described how meagerly she was clothed. “She also has a big bump on her forehead and bruises on her arm and leg.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“She speaks no English, far as I can tell.”
“No kidding.”
“Almost sounds German . . . but I’m not sure.” Jodi told him the word for banana. “Ever hear it?”
“Might be Pennsylvania Dutch.” Scott paused a second. “How’s her hair cut?”
“Looks like it’s never been trimmed.”
“Parted down the middle . . . with a bun in back?”
“No bun, but definitely parted in the middle.”
Scott paused, clicking his tongue like he did when he was deep in thought. Then he said, “Tell you what. Put her in the car and drive over to Hickory Hollow—use your GPS—it’s not too far away. Turn right at the first road after Cattail Road and Hickory Lane, and go a mile or so. There’ll be a one-room schoolhouse on the left. The next farmhouse on that side of the road belongs to Bishop John Beiler. He’ll know what to do.”
“So forget about contacting the authorities?”
“Well, you just did. An off-duty policeman.”
She imagined his grin. “On vacation, no less.”
“I’m glad to help.”
“I did check for reports of a missing child,” she further explained. “Nothing showed up.”
“Right. It may seem strange, but if she is Amish . . . the People prefer to keep the English authorities out of their hair as much as possible.”
“The People?”
“The Plain community there.”
She considered this. “Why?”
“They’re cloistered by choice, separated from the world—that’s us, we who aren’t Amish. They call us Englishers. And they definitely prefer to handle things themselves.”
“Even in locating a lost child?”
“There are probably a bunch of farmers out searching for her as we speak.”
Jodi shivered at the thought.
Scott paused, then
added: “Try saying this to her: Kannscht du Deitsch schwetze? and see how she reacts.”
“Um, something about Dutch?”
“Yep. Can you speak Deitsch? It’s the mother tongue of the Amish.”
“Terrific, I’ll repeat it to her when I hang up.”
“Just get to Hickory Hollow as quickly as possible.”
“Okay, I’m on it.”
“Update me later.”
“Will do.”
They said good-bye and hung up.
Jodi leaned down to reach for the child’s dimpled hand.
Too much drama for one day, she thought, realizing how fond she’d become of the little darling. The way she says Mamma just sounds so sweet.
She attempted to say the phrase Scott had mentioned. “Kannscht du Deitsch schwetze?”
The little girl leaped up, clapping her hands and jabbering in her language.
“That’s all I know,” Jodi said, laughing as she received the child’s hug. “Let’s find you something to wear besides this towel.”
Jodi led the child into the laundry room, where she opened the dryer and removed the warm underwear and handed them to the child so she could dress herself, smiling at her astonished look. It was at that moment she remembered the bag of donated clothing.
“Let’s take a look,” Jodi said, opening the sack.
Pulling out several dresses, she could see they were much too big. But there was a small skirt with blue and green polka dots, and a green short-sleeved top that matched. “Well, look at this,” she said, holding it up. “What do you think?”
The girl frowned, clutching the towel closer and shaking her head. “Nee.”
“Aw, but honey, you need something to wear.” She paused. “And this is super cute,” she said as she looked through the rest of the clothes. Nothing else was even remotely the right size.
Trent would call this providential. She closed the bag.
When she looked up, the little girl had left the room. Jodi found her in the bathroom, leaning over the empty bathtub and reaching for the bright pink sponge.
Guardian, the Page 6
