Fallen

by Linda Castillo

The urge to push overrode her fear that she would mess the bed. She bore down hard, felt her insides cramp and tear. She screamed into the towel, pulled it hard against her lower molars. Body wet with sweat. Hair still damp from her shower.

  This time, the cramp didn’t subside. It came and came and came until she couldn’t breathe. Thought she would pass out. Or die. She bore down again, grunting, the ugly sounds of a mindless beast. She opened her legs, spread them wide, not caring about modesty or the sheets or anything else. All she knew was that she wanted this thing out of her. She wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to be done with it.

  She pushed against the pressure with all of her might. At some point, she looked at her friend, saw her pale face suffused with horror and fascination. Before she could speak or think, another riot of pain ripped through her.

  She grabbed her knees, pulled them to her shoulders. She wanted to sit up, but couldn’t. Another cramp rolled through her, movement in her abdomen. Pressure low and building. An elongated scream tore from her throat as she pushed. She bore down hard, unable to catch her breath, and the room spun. She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, held it as she tried desperately to force it from her body.

  A tearing sensation between her legs. Lessening pressure, like bowels breaking free.

  “I see the top of his head!” Squealing, Loretta took her hand. “It’s coming out! Go ahead and push!”

  Lying on her back, she gripped both knees, curling upward with the effort. Sounds she didn’t recognize tearing from her throat. Everything else falling away.

  Loretta moved to the foot of the bed. Bent over her, looking at her. “Keep going!” she said. “Push. You can do it. Push!”

  Rachael closed her eyes and bore down. The sensation of tearing. The knowledge that her body would never be the same.

  “Oh! Oh! It’s a girl!”

  Rachael caught a glimpse of her friend’s face. Eyes wide and excited and filled with awe.

  “She’s out,” Loretta said. “I’ve got her.”

  Rachael fell back into the pillows. Breaths rushing. Body slicked with perspiration. The sheets around her damp with it.

  “There’s a cord.”

  Loretta set the baby in a ratty towel. A tiny body slicked with fluids. An instant later, Rachael heard a cry, like a kitten’s mewl. The sensation of the cord still within her.

  She looked away. “Cut it,” she said, and for the first time since the first pang of labor, she thought about what came next.

  “I brought Mamm’s shears.” Loretta cut the cord, capturing the blood with a face cloth. “There.”

  She then swaddled the baby tightly in the towel, rolling her from side to side and tucking in the edges. “That’s how the midwife does it,” she said. “Tight, like this, so she doesn’t scratch herself with those little fingernails.”

  Loretta got to her feet and looked at Rachael, her expression uncertain, questioning. “Do you want to hold her?”

  Rachael didn’t look at her friend; she didn’t look at the baby. She shook her head.

  “Oh, but she’s so cute. Just look at her.” Smiling, Loretta looked down at the baby, running her finger over the little cheek. “Such a precious thing. Her lips are like a satin bow.”

  When Rachael said nothing, she added, “This child is a gift from God. No matter how she came to be, this little angel is—”

  Rachael cut her off. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  A moment of hesitation and then, “Of course not. It’s just that … you’re exhausted and overwhelmed. Maybe you’re the one having second thoughts. I wouldn’t blame you, especially after what you’ve been through.”

  “I don’t want her,” Rachael said. “I don’t want to be a mother. You know that.”

  Loretta looked down at the baby, tears glittering. “Are you sure?”

  Rachael studied her friend, wondering how she could be so happy— so good—when life dished out such terrible things. Having children and a family are a key part of being Amish. Children are welcomed with joy and considered “a heritage of the Lord.” She wondered what was wrong with her. Why didn’t she want her own baby?

  “You and Ben have been married for what? Seven months now?” Rachael asked. “And yet God hasn’t seen fit to bless you with a child.”

  “These things take time,” Loretta said. “God will not be rushed.”

  “It’s a sign, Loretta. It means everything we talked about is the right thing to do.”

  Loretta looked up, met her gaze, her expression serene. “But how…”

  “Ben still thinks you’re ime familye weg?” Rachael asked.

  Loretta nodded. “Mamm, too. Everyone does. I made that pillow, you know. I’ve been wearing it under my dress for weeks now.” She looked down at the baby, but not before Rachael discerned the hint of shame in her eyes.

  “So we go through with our plan,” Rachael said. “Just like we talked about.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Loretta whispered. “What if someone finds out?”

  “No one is going to find out,” Rachael assured her. “All we have to do is stay calm and stick to our plan.”

  Looking down at the newborn in her arms, Loretta blinked back tears. “I love her already.”

  “See? You’re a natural,” Rachael said, watching, relieved. “You’ll see. Everything will work out. Ben is going to be so happy. Your mamm and datt. You, too.”

  Loretta’s brows knit. “It sounded so … easy when we talked about it. I mean, before. Now that the baby is here, how do I explain—”

  “I got it all worked out.” Rachael tapped her temple with her index finger. “I thought of every last detail. Every question. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  And she began to talk.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Hello? Anyone home?” Skid knocked on the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

  No one came.

  He’d tried the front door, the back door, and the side door off the porch by the garden, all to no avail.

  Puzzled, he hit his shoulder mike and hailed the chief. “I’m ten-twenty-three,” he said. “What’s your twenty?”

  Radio silence hissed, same as it had the first time he’d tried to reach her, ten minutes ago.

  He took the steps to the sidewalk and started toward his cruiser, which was parked in the gravel area between the house and barn. He’d been looking forward to a quiet shift. A breakfast burrito from LaDonna’s Diner. Coffee from that new café on Main. He’d especially been looking forward to using the men’s room somewhere.

  Where the hell was Burkholder?

  Cursing beneath his breath, he hailed Dispatch. “Mona?”

  “What up?”

  He grinned at the sound of her voice—which he liked a little too much these days—and he was glad there was no one around to see him. She was filling in for Lois today, which meant she’d be there when he ended his shift. “Any idea where the chief is?”

  “Last I heard she was headed out to the Bontrager place.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He looked around. “She’s not here.”

  “That’s weird.” A beat of silence. “Did you try her cell?”

  “I’ll try again. Over and out.” Skid pulled his cell from his pocket, hit the speed dial for Kate. Four rings and then voicemail. “Well, shit.”

  Puzzled, he walked to his cruiser, opened the door to get in, and then closed it. Fingers of something that felt vaguely like concern pressed into the back of his neck. One of the things he liked most about the chief was that she was reliable and always available. Day or night.

  “So unless you’re in the damn shower,” he muttered, “you ought to be picking up the phone.”

  Had she run into some problem on her way here? Or was there something else going on?

  Leaning against the hood of his cruiser, he checked his phone again and looked around, wrinkled his nose at the waft of manure coming from the barn. Damn, he hated dairy operations. They
were all mud and stink and he’d had enough of both to last him a lifetime. He was reaching for the car door handle when he noticed the barn’s sliding door standing open about a foot. Wondering if there was someone inside who hadn’t seen or heard him, he started that way.

  He reached the barn, pushed the door open another foot, and peeked inside. “Hello?” he called out. “Police department! Anyone here?”

  The interior smelled of cattle and sour milk, the stink made worse by the manure pit out back. He entered, his eyes adjusting to the murky light. A dozen or so stanchions ahead. Milking apparatus that didn’t look too clean. A big generator that smelled of kerosene and sludge. To his right were the stairs to the hayloft above. Skid glanced left. Everything inside him ground to a halt at the sight of the vehicle parked halfway down the aisle. It was a newish Toyota Camry. Red. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the rental car the chief was driving.

  Senses on alert, he strode to the vehicle, set his hand against the hood, found it warm to the touch. Did she have some mechanical problem after she’d arrived? Dead battery and no jump? If that was the case, why was the vehicle parked in the barn?

  He spoke into his radio. “I’m ten-twenty-three out at the Bontrager place. Mona, I got a vehicle out here. I’m pretty sure it’s the chief’s. Can you ten-twenty-eight?” He read the license plate number to her. “She been in contact?”

  “Negative.”

  Skid looked around. No one in sight. Not even a damn cow. He was reaching for the Camry’s door handle when he spotted a smear on the window. Not dirt or mud. Pulling out his mini Maglite, he leaned close for a better look. Blood.

  “Shit.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I got blood.” He yanked open the door. His heart did a slow roll at the sight of the .38 revolver on the seat. Her clip-on mike. “Get County out here. Ten-thirty-nine.” Lights and siren. “I’m going to take a look around.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Consciousness returns with the ebb and flow of a gentle tide. Warm water lapping against sand and then rushing back out to sea. I’m aware of movement and light and the vicious pound of pain in my head. Something coarse scraping my cheek. The smells of old wood and dust and moldy feed. Nausea bubbles like hot grease in my stomach. Bile in my mouth.

  I spit, realize I’ve been slobbering. I try to lift my hand to wipe my mouth, but I can’t move my arms. I have no idea where I am. All I know is that I’m in a bad way. Confusion is a bottomless pit. But the muscle memory of fear hovers just out of reach, coiled tight and ready to spring.

  Get up, a little voice whispers. Get up.

  I open my eyes. I see a mound of loose hay a foot from my face. I’m lying on my side, my face against weathered wood. I’m being jostled, bumped and rocked back and forth. I hear the jingle of a harness. The clip-clop of shod hooves.

  I raise my head, look around. My vision blurs, so I blink it away, try to focus. Pain roils in my head. The jostling triggers another rise of nausea. I spit, set my head back down, close my eyes.

  Get up, Kate. Get up! Hurry!

  The memory of the events that brought me to this moment rushes back. Adrenaline jets into my muscles, making them twitch. The fear that follows sends me bolt upright. I’m in the back bed of a hay wagon. Two horses pulling it along a dirt road. There’s an open field to my left. Thick woods on the right. I see blood on the wood where I’d been lying. My hands are bound behind my back. Ben Bontrager sits in the driver seat, leather lines in his hands, looking at me over his shoulder. Blank expression. Mouth set. Loretta sits next to him, staring straight ahead.

  “Ben, what the hell are you doing?” I grind out the words as I test the binding at my wrists. Wire, I realize, tight enough to cut off my circulation.

  “Stay where you are.” He turns back to his driving. “We’re almost there.”

  “Ben, you can’t do this.” I work at the wire, twisting and tugging as I speak. “I’m a cop. There’s an officer on the way.”

  The Amish man ignores me, jiggles the lines, continues on.

  I take in my surroundings, try to get my bearings. Nothing is familiar. I have no idea how far we’ve traveled or how long I was unconscious. We’re not on a public road. No sign of the farmhouse. My best guess is that we’re somewhere in the back of his property.

  I glance down at my right hip. My .38 is gone. My radio and shoulder mike are gone. Shit. Shit.

  “Ben.” I say his name firmly, as if I still have any say in a matter that has spiraled out of control. “Stop the horses. Untie me. Right now. Before this goes too far.”

  No response. No indication that he even heard me.

  “Where’s my gun?” I ask. “My radio. For God’s sake, people are looking for me. Cops.”

  Nothing.

  “Turn around and look at me,” I snap, adding authority to my voice that’s ridiculous at this point.

  Loretta looks over her shoulder at me. Her face impassive.

  “Take me back to the house,” I tell her. “So we can talk about this. Get things worked out.”

  No one responds.

  I try another tack. “Where are you taking me?”

  The couple exchanges a look, but they don’t answer, they don’t look at me.

  I shift, try to get my legs under me. I’m unsteady, but manage to get to one knee. I’m about to rise when, without warning, Ben swings around. He lifts the buggy whip and brings the thick handle end of it down on my shoulder. “Stay there,” he warns.

  I duck and turn away. The second blow strikes my back. The lash of pain roils my temper. “Cut it out,” I hiss.

  He offers up a third blow. A glance off my right cheekbone. I grit my teeth, take it. Nothing else I can do.

  “Mer sott em sei eegne net verlosse,” the Amish man snaps. One should not abandon one’s own. “You did, Kate Burkholder. You left the Amish way. You abandoned God. He no longer sees you as one of us.”

  I stare at him, wondering if he’s got my .38 on him. “God loves all of His children,” I hear myself say. “Amish. English. It doesn’t matter to Him.”

  “Huahrah.” Whoremonger. Making a sound of disgust, he turns away and goes back to his driving.

  I lean against the side of the wagon, the wood rasping my back. Desperation presses down. I’m unarmed and incapacitated, in the middle of nowhere, with a man who will likely do me harm. I remind myself that Skid is probably wondering where I am. It’s only a matter of time before he comes looking. My feet aren’t bound, which means I can run if I get the chance. If I can reach the woods, I might be able to elude them until backup arrives.

  I stare at their backs a moment before speaking. “What about Fannie?” I ask. “Have you thought about what this will do to her?”

  Loretta turns to me. No longer is she the mouselike woman with the dish towel tossed over her shoulder and her eyes cast down. Now, she is a mother whose child is under threat, willing to do whatever it takes to protect what is hers.

  “You are veesht,” she hisses. Wicked. “Your heart is filled with lushtahrei.” Immorality. “You are not Amisch. You were never Amish.” She raps the heel of her hand against her chest. “Not inside. Not here, where it counts.”

  “This isn’t about me,” I tell her. “It’s about Fannie.”

  “Leave her out of this,” Loretta spits.

  My mind races for some way to reach her, land upon some point that will help me negotiate my way out of this or at least defuse the situation until help arrives.

  “I know what happened,” I tell her. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”

  Neither of them engage, so I keep going. “I think Rachael became ime familye weg the night Dane Fletcher assaulted her. I think she hid it from her family. From everyone. She had the baby. An innocent little girl. Only she didn’t want it, did she?”

  The Amish woman stares straight ahead. “Be quiet, Katie.”

  I keep pushing. “I know what she did. I know what you did. I’m not blaming either of you.”


  “Leeyah.” Liar. She turns to me, eyes flaring. “You know nothing. Backslider. Who are you to judge? We will not let you take her.”

  In the minutes I’ve been talking, I’ve worked at the wires wrapped around my wrists, bending and flexing, but the steel holds fast. At some point, I’ve cut my skin. I feel a dribble of blood making its way across my knuckles.

  “No one’s going to take her from you.” I say the words with a gentleness that belies the situation. “There may be some legal issues, but there’s no reason why you can’t legally adopt Fannie and continue to raise her as your own.”

  It’s not true, of course. This couple has committed multiple felonies. They will be prosecuted and, if convicted, probably spend time behind bars.

  “All you have to do,” I say, “is untie me. We go back to the house and come up with a plan. I know we can work it out.”

  The Amish woman slants a questioning look at her husband. For the first time, she appears uncertain. She wants the words to be true. She wants the problem of me to go away. Most of all, she wants Fannie.

  “I think it’s too late,” she whispers.

  “Do the right thing,” I coax. “The police will be here any moment. Whatever you have planned isn’t going to work.”

  Ben casts a warning look at his wife. “Sell is nix as baeffzes.” That is nothing but trifling talk. “No one is coming. Don’t listen to her.”

  I look around. The woods are about fifty yards away. The field to my left looks fallow. There’s no cover, not a single tree or fence. I have no idea what they have planned or where they’re taking me. They’re not going to let me go. If I’m going to get away, now is the time.

  Never taking my eyes from the couple, I set my heels against the wood bed. The jingle of the harnesses, the wagon bumping and rocking over the rough road, cover the noise I make as I scooch my feet closer to the side of the wagon. Using the side for balance, I get to my knees. The horses are trotting, but the pace is slow enough for me to jump without getting hurt.

  Eyes on the backs of my captors, I get to my feet, set my right foot atop the side. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ben’s head swivel. I jump, land on my feet, and hit the ground running.