Plain Refuge

Inexplicably, the idea of confiding in Sheriff Byler was appealing...as was he. And that triggered a new kind of alarm. Being attracted to him was a really bad idea. Plus, a physical attraction was absolutely the wrong reason to trust him. She could easily imagine him being cocky enough to think he could solve her problems, and arrogant enough to do what he thought best without asking her first. And that was assuming he didn’t have more in common with Estevez than she wanted to believe.

“The fewer people who know I’m not Amish, the better,” she said slowly. “What if he tells a friend, or one of his officers, who tells someone else? So fast, everyone could know.”

“If you ask him to keep silent...”

“Why don’t we wait and see what happens?” she said. “He came out here and saw that I’m doing fine. He may have satisfied his curiosity.”

After a moment, he nodded. “Ja, that is so.”

Rebecca hesitated. “You don’t think I’m off in the head to think someone was trying to kill me?”

“Wu schmoke is, is aa feier,” he said without hesitation.

That much of the language she remembered: where there is smoke, there is fire.

“God asks us to trust in Him, but He does not say to be a fool,” her uncle added. “When a horse lifts a hoof and I see he will set it down on my toes, I move my foot schnell.”

“Denke,” she said, torn between humor and tears.

He only smiled and said, “I must get back to work.” Clapping his straw hat onto his head, he departed.

It took her a moment to collect herself enough to rise and say, “Let me wash those dishes, Aenti Emma.”

* * *

DANIEL DROVE AWAY from the Graber farm no more satisfied than before. He knew he didn’t have Rebecca’s whole story. She’d failed to offer her last name, which increased his suspicion that she was running from an abusive spouse.

He didn’t much like that explanation for several reasons. At the forefront was the danger to Rebecca and her kid. In his experience, domestic violence was like dynamite, volatile and deadly.

What was most puzzling was the rarity of an Amish woman fleeing from her husband. They were a peaceful people, committed to nonviolence. Domestic abuse existed among them, but forgiveness was so ingrained that women rarely gave up on a husband. Or perhaps it was more that the women knew how few alternatives they had. If the abuse was bad enough, she might go to her bishop, who would chide the husband, maybe going so far as counseling him and demanding he confess and beg forgiveness from the entire congregation. But for the wife to take her child and run... Daniel had never heard of such a thing.

Even as he brooded, Daniel noted how well the corn seemed to be coming on, thriving in the heat. Many local farmers would plant a second crop once the corn was harvested—soybeans had become a success in the difficult northern Missouri climate, but many of the Amish chose a cover crop like forage turnips, which provided good grazing for livestock and kept down weeds. Even the Amish moved with the times, just with more deliberation than their neighbors.

He wasn’t sure what more he could do to help Rebecca when she so clearly didn’t want his help. Daniel fully understood the stubborn refusal of the Amish to turn to outsiders. Samuel Graber was a capable man, and he had extended family in the county. Yet he was ill equipped to counter violence. The best he could do was slow down an intruder to give Rebecca and Matthew time to hide in the barn or the woods at the back of the property. Samuel would let himself be shot rather than strike a blow.

And that was where Daniel had collided with the Ordnung, the rules directing the people that had once been his.

No, his decision to go out in the world had been more complicated than that, as nearly every life-altering decision was, but he knew his father or mother would say sadly, “Daniel could not forgive.”

To them it was that simple.

He wished he thought any of the Grabers would call him if a dangerous man came seeking Rebecca.

* * *

“SLEEP TIGHT.” REBECCA kissed her son’s forehead and stood. She lifted the kerosene lamp to light her way back downstairs. Thank goodness Matthew had never been afraid of the dark.

“Mommy?” he whispered.

She paused and turned back.

“Can Daddy come see us here?” Matthew asked. “I bet he’d like the horses, too.”

He’d asked about his father when they first set out, but not since. After a moment, she returned to sit on the edge of his bed again. Smoothing his hair, she said, “You know how hard he works. He wouldn’t be able to get away for days and days. This is our adventure.”

“But...what about when it’s his weekend?”

His weekend had just come and gone. She didn’t like to think about how he’d reacted.

“We’ll make up for it later,” she said. “Just like we do if he has to travel for work and can’t be home for his weekend.”

Matthew was quiet. She knew he understood that much.

“I don’t know when we’ll go back,” she said softly. Or if. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

“Aenti Emma makes good cookies. And I liked fishing with Abram and his dad.”

Mose, the son who farmed alongside Samuel, had his own house and a growing family on the far side of the cornfield. In his thirties, he already had four children, the oldest almost eleven. Like Matthew, Abram was six.

“Only, Abram doesn’t talk that good.”

“That well. And Abram talks just fine, but he’s only starting to learn English. I actually thought he was doing pretty well with it for his age.”

“But how come he doesn’t speak English? Everyone does.”

So she explained again how the Amish people spoke their own language, and that children weren’t usually exposed to English until they began school at six years old. By the time they finished eighth grade, they would be able to speak two languages, which was more than you could say for the typical American student.

Matthew was quiet long enough that she hoped she could slip out, but then he said, “Abram wants me to go to school with him. He says Sarah will be his teacher.” He sounded astonished.

Rebecca smiled despite feeling a pang. When would she be able to have her own classroom again? She could hardly apply for jobs now. “It’s true. Cousin Sarah is a teacher. Just like teachers and kids at home, she has the summer off. She told me that tomorrow she is going to the schoolhouse to start preparing for the new school year. I offered to help her clean. You can come with us, if you’d like.”

“Can Abram come, too?” he asked, with eagerness that encouraged her.

“If his mamm and daad say he can. Now.” She made her voice firm. “Sleep, and no argument.”

“’Kay,” he murmured. “But you’ll come to bed real soon, too, won’t you?”

“I will.” Without electricity or television or smartphones, there was little temptation to stay up late. And on a farm, the work began early.

She kissed him once again and this time made her escape, taking old worries and new ones with her. What would she say if Matthew kept asking about his father? If he begged her to let him call Daddy? And how would he react when he found out he likely wouldn’t be in Mrs. Chisholm’s first-grade classroom this fall, but would instead be joining his cousin Abram and the other children in their church district in a one-room school?

He was young. He’d adapt.

But Rebecca knew she’d keep asking herself if this huge adjustment she expected of him was fair or even possible. And yet Tim had let her know he couldn’t protect her or Matthew. Her priority had to be keeping herself and Matthew safe. If Tim truly loved their son, if he felt even a shadow of affection for her, he would understand what she’d done.

How long would they have to stay in hiding? Right now, all she could do was check the internet for any news about Steven, Josh, Tim or the construction company when she could make it to the library in Hadburg. If she found no news about an arrest or closing of the investigation, at some point, she had to talk to Tim again.

But not yet.

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