Rebecca's Return (The Adams County Trilogy 2) Read online

  Beatrice rattled across the Harshville Bridge, the clatter irritating her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Isaac Miller had retired to the living room already, studying the Scripture texts the bishop supplied at last preaching Sunday. This weekend might well be his turn to preach, although one could never be quite sure. There was a normal rotation for preaching, but it could easily be changed with a visiting preacher who always got priority.

  Not that Isaac cared one way or the other. Preaching was a light burden to him, but one was not wise to mention such things. Common Amish belief required preachers to walk in humility, suppressing natural talent lest it spoil the man. Everyone knew in theory that God could work just as well through the most stumbling sermon as through the well-delivered one. But in practice the people enjoyed the latter ones better—but that too was not something to dwell on. One’s soul, it was widely believed, could quickly be damaged with such prideful thoughts.

  So Isaac studied the texts to be used that Sunday. They came from Mark, chapter eleven and Luke, chapter eighteen. His eyes caught on verses twenty-five and twenty-six in the book of Mark. He read them in German to get the full meaning and to memorize them, should they need quoting and if preaching fell to him.

  “And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.

  “But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.”

  Isaac pondered the verses, trying to fully grasp their intent. He let the familiar words roll off his tongue again.

  Miriam interrupted him, as he was turning the pages to Luke. “John’s not home yet,” she said, concern in her voice.

  “He’s probably catching up on all the news—you know—Rebecca’s been away for a long time.” Isaac chuckled at his own humor, thinking that time was considered to be of greater length by young people, although it consisted of the same twenty-four hours everyone else had.

  “I just heard a horse run in the driveway,” Miriam said, still concerned.

  “Then he’ll be right in.” Isaac had found Luke, chapter eighteen and dropped his eyes to the page.

  “It sounded like just his horse,” Miriam insisted. “No buggy wheels.”

  Isaac raised his eyes skeptically. “You’re probably hearing things.”

  “It’s time for him to be home. He doesn’t like being out late… except on youth nights.”

  “He’ll be in.” Isaac was on the first verse of the chapter, anxious to continue.

  “I think you ought to look,” she insisted.

  “What could be wrong?” Isaac tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “It just sounded strange. You should go look. It’s not normal for him. I just—I don’t know.” She stood still in the living room doorway.

  “Just wait a minute—he’ll be in.”

  “Where’s your flashlight?” she asked.

  “In the mudroom—left it there last night.”

  A minute later Isaac heard Miriam open the door. She just has to worry. Must be the mother in her. He let the German words of the Scriptures from Luke form on his tongue. It helped with the memorization. At least it did for him. How the others ministers prepared, they never discussed.

  Only seconds had passed before Miriam’s hurried footsteps were heard from the mudroom, causing a brief stab of worry in Isaac. What can be her rush? Simple worrying would not explain this. He rose from the recliner as she opened the outside kitchen door.

  Her face was white. In a blur of motion, Isaac saw Miriam standing there, her lips open, but no sound was coming out. She held out a trembling hand to him as if beseeching him for something she was unable to ask for. Her other hand was still on the doorknob, holding her body steady.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, moving toward her.

  She worked her mouth, but still no sound came out.

  Isaac was now close to Miriam, reaching for her upraised hand, his other going to her shoulder, his eyes finding hers. “What is it?” he asked, insistence in his voice.

  “John—John,” she managed, making a smothering sound. “Something’s wrong. Oh Isaac! What if he’s dead?”

  “Dead?” Isaac repeated numbly, a cold fear sweeping through his body.

  “The buggy. It’s not here. Just the horse—it’s still—things are hanging on him. Something terrible has happened.”

  Isaac shook his head, trying to absorb the news but not succeeding. It made no sense. “Show me,” he said, moving toward the door, his hand still holding hers.

  “I can’t,” she said, reaching for a chair from the kitchen table and seating herself slowly. “I just know he’s gone. John—the only son of our love. Da Hah has taken him.”

  Gently Isaac took the flashlight from her fingers, having to apply force to loosen it. Miriam seemed not to notice. He went out the door.

  Using the flashlight, Isaac ran across the front lawn, quickly finding John’s horse standing in front of the barn door, pieces of harness hanging on him, his front quarters shivering violently, the muscles jerking in reaction to some recent trauma.

  Isaac’s mind reeled as he forced himself to think what must be done. First, he walked to the end of their driveway but heard no sound of sirens in the distance, nor could he see any police cruiser lights. What happened must have just happened, or perhaps no one had discovered it yet.

  Images of John lying beside the road ran through Isaac’s mind, and he almost took off running down Wheat Ridge toward the west, with only his flashlight to guide him. No sooner did the thought come than the foolishness of that course of action became apparent. Miriam was in the house in shock and needed attention first.

  Running back to the house, he opened the door to find Miriam still on the kitchen chair staring into space. “Da Hah must have wanted him,” she said numbly, when he came up close.

  “We don’t know that,” he said a little too loudly, but he wanted to be sure she heard. “Get your coat. We’re going to look.”

  “I don’t want to see him now,” Miriam said. “There will be time later.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he told her.

  Isaac saw Miriam’s eyes show the first signs of life since she had returned with the news. “You must go. I’ll be okay.” She lay her hand on her heart. “Da Hah will be with me.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. He looked sharply at her, not certain, but when the first tear came down her face he said, “I will go then.”

  After walking rapidly to the barn, Isaac first unharnessed John’s horse, taking care that none of the pieces of shafts stuck it. He then put the horse up in its own stall. Quickly getting their driving horse, he threw the harness on, buckled it up, and led the startled horse outside and into the shafts of his own buggy. Urging it on, Isaac drove out the driveway and turned west.

  After rattling across the Harshville Bridge, Beatrice drove the speed limit, her lights and siren off. Mother would be fine when she got there, maybe a little scared but fine. Beatrice figured there was no sense in causing an unnecessary scene by driving fast and using the lights. With any luck she could pull the cruiser up short of her mother’s house, get out, walk to the house, calm her mother down, and then leave.

  No one would be the wiser, especially that Mr. Urchin from next door. He would gladly have the news of this visit spread all over town, making things uncomfortable for her mother’s remaining days in Unity. Those days would be short, Beatrice now had no doubt. Her mother belonged in a home where she could be looked after.

  As her headlights cut through the dark, Beatrice kept her eyes open for any other signs of trouble. The training in the academy, amplified by experience, kept her alert in the squad car in ways she wasn’t when off duty.

  Beatrice slowed down. Mother’s house was on the right. The street in front was wide enough to park along. That would be the best and less conspicuous way of making this visit. A b
ummer, being a police officer and having to deal with my own family. Why wasn’t Tad closer?

  As her headlights hit her mother’s lawn, Beatrice noticed something wasn’t right. Stray pieces of wood debris and black cloth were draping the ditch. Something resembling a couch was lying in the ditch. A passerby might readily assume the homeowner had put stuff out for a garbage service.

  Only Beatrice knew her mother did not use a garbage service.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mobile three to base. I’m at the site.”

  “Yes, Beatrice. Your mother okay?” the answer came back clearly.

  “I just got here. Still outside. There’s debris in her yard. It looks like more than just a prank.”

  “Okay—advise.”

  “It looks like parts of a buggy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Affirmative. Quite sure. Some large pieces too. You had best advise the highway patrol. They may want a look.”

  “An accident? You need medical?”

  “I’m checking. I see no vehicle around,” Beatrice said into her radio. “Will get right back.”

  Pulling her flashlight from behind the seat, she stepped out of the cruiser, the darkness deep where the headlights did not reach. Stepping across the piercing lights, she swept the flashlight beam and found nothing.

  Pieces of splintered wood lay halfway across the yard, but most of the mangled pieces, which she now knew came from a buggy, lay along the ditch. No sign of any human beings could be seen.

  On the point of turning back, Beatrice remembered her mother’s complaint of someone throwing an object against her house. Maybe a large piece had flown that far. Bringing her flashlight beam up, she ran it along the front of the house, halting when the beam landed on a crumpled form at the far edge of the building.

  Beatrice held the light to the side and ran toward the sprawled figure. It was a man. An Amish man. His hat, as she was used to seeing on Amish men, was nowhere near. It could well have been lost in the mangled debris by the road. The young man lay as he had fallen, his face toward the road, unmoving.

  Beatrice’s first reaction was to check for signs of life. Searching, her fingers pushed his collar back and found the faint pulsing of a beat. She looked for blood but found none, either on him or on the nearby ground. Beatrice noticed the shallow breathing and moved his head back slightly for better air movement. Checking his front pants pockets, she found a billfold. Holding her flashlight under her arm, she flipped through its contents but found no ID. The strangeness of that struck her, but these were the Amish, and she remembered that they don’t own driver’s licenses.

  Because she couldn’t do anything more, even with her basic first responder’s training, she stood to run back to the cruiser. The sound of her mother at the front door stopped her. “Is that you, Beatrice?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s out there?” Isabelle asked, half in and half out of the doorway.

  “I’ll tell you later, Mother. Can you just stay inside? I’ll be in after a bit.”

  “So they did throw something against my house? They were young boys, I think. You don’t know how glad I am. I thought I might be imagining things.”

  “Mom, please go inside. I’ll be in.” Beatrice couldn’t keep the tension out of her voice.

  “Oh, it’s something serious.” Isabelle glanced down the side of her house, searching now, pulling in her breath when her eyes locked on the sprawled body at the corner. “It’s a man,” she said, stepping fully onto the porch. “We have to bring him inside—right away.”

  “No, Mother.” Beatrice’s voice was firm. “He can’t be moved until the medics get here. I have to go call it in.”

  “Then I’ll just stay with him,” Isabelle said, taking firm steps toward the sidewalk, her hand finding the familiar handrail even in the darkness.

  “Don’t move him—I mean it.” Beatrice was already halfway across the yard.

  “Of course not,” Isabelle said. “He just shouldn’t be left out here alone.”

  Reaching John she knelt down beside him, brushing the hair back from his face, listening to his breathing. “The good Lord will take care of you,” she whispered. “He always does—for his own—that is. You are His own, aren’t you?”

  She looked at him in the dim light of the cruiser’s headlights. “Of course you are.” She took his hand in hers, their touch warm. “You’ll be okay, young man. Many are the troubles of the righteous, but the Lord delivers from them all. Yes, that’s what David said, and I can testify it’s true. Eighty years of my life, and it’s still true. The Lord, He will take care of you.”

  Out at the car, Beatrice pressed down the mike. “Unit three to base, advise the need for medics. Injured—male—early twenties.”

  “It’s already on the way,” Sally replied.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Buggy wreck with pieces lying around. Just figures, I suppose. See anything of the horse?”

  “No,” Beatrice said, not really having thought of that.

  “Must have gotten away then. You’d see it…if it was there.”

  “Really,” was all Beatrice could manage, the images going through her head of what an automobile could do to such a large animal.

  “If it ran off, you’ll have some visitors soon.” Sally added. “Thought you might want to know.”

  “How do you know who this is?” Beatrice asked because Sally seemed to know so much. “He has no ID, and he’s unconscious.”

  “Ask whoever shows up. They all know each other.”

  “Really,” Beatrice said again.

  “Any sign of the medics?”

  Beatrice listened before responding, “Hear them in the distance.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll keep you advised.” Beatrice placed the radio back in the holder, closed the cruiser door, and stood with her back to the piercing colored lights.

  The distant wail of sirens filled the air, as Beatrice walked back to her mother, who was still bent over the sprawled form. “You haven’t moved him, have you?” she asked, a touch of anger in her voice. “You should be inside, Mother.”

  “The Lord will take care of him.” Isabelle got to her feet, ignoring her daughter’s tone. “He’s such a sweet boy.”

  The approaching wail of the ambulance siren reached a crescendo and then stopped. The flashing lights came around the first house, going south on Unity Road. “The medics are here,” Beatrice said to no one in particular.

  “Yes, but the Lord will take care of him.”

  “I’m sure He will.” Beatrice took her mother’s hand and led her toward the house. “Let the medics take care of him now.”

  “He’s still breathing. I could hear it.”

  “Did you by chance see who hit him?” Beatrice asked, her mind already going to prosecution and finding who the hit-and-run driver was.

  “No, just a loud car. Then the bang on the house.”

  “You didn’t look outside?”

  “After the car had roared away, I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things. You know how it is. I wanted to be sure.”

  “It’s good you called it in,” Beatrice told her mother.

  “The Lord must have helped me,” Isabelle replied. “I wasn’t sure. That young man could have died.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Lord,” Isabelle looked heavenward and prayed, “this world is getting too much for me.”

  “You’ll stay inside now until we’re done?” Beatrice held the front door open, waiting.

  “Yes. You’ll stop in then?”

  “When it’s done.” Beatrice gently shut the door, already seeing her mother heading toward the front window. Isabelle would be watching till it was over.

  Already the medics were rolling their stretcher across the front yard, moving fast. Reaching the prostrate form, they checked for vitals, not taking as long as Beatrice expected they would. Dropping the stretcher down and off the wheels, they gently l
ifted the body onto the platform, one attendant at each end. They placed the stretcher back onto the wheels and rolled it out toward the road.

  “Any ID?” the lead attendant shouted across the yard.

  “Not that I could find.”

  “He’s Amish?”

  “Looks so to me.”

  “Figures then.”

  “State’s on its way. Can you wait until someone that knows him shows up?”

  “No.”

  Beatrice glanced at the form strapped to the stretcher, his breathing still shallow. Feeling the need to stall, she asked, “Injuries extensive?”

  “Seems stable.” The attendant shrugged his shoulders. “Unconscious.”

  “Life flight?”

  “No. Doesn’t fit.”

  “There might be someone along soon—like his kin.”

  “You know his kin?”

  “Dispatcher thinks that because the horse isn’t here, word will spread.”

  “What? Horses talk? Strange ways, these Amish. Might work—might not. If anyone shows up to ask, we’re at Adams County Medical.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you see who did this?” the attendant asked.

  Beatrice noted that they were curious enough to take time to ask that. “No. My mother lives here. She called it in. Saw nothing though. Just heard the noise.”

  “Nasty piece of work.”

  “Yeah. Looks like it hit him from behind. Swerved at the last minute. State will investigate. This will be their case, not mine. Didn’t see any skid marks.” Beatrice was playing for time, hoping for what, she wasn’t quite sure. She stepped away from the ambulance and then stopped at the sound of horse’s hooves on the blacktop coming fast from the east.

  The attendant heard it too. “Kin coming?”

  “I would guess so. Surely you can wait a minute. It’s the Amish.”

  The attendant shrugged, his hand on the door handle. “A minute.”

  Stepping off the blacktop to wait, Beatrice watched the buggy come up, its horse panting, nostrils flared from the fast run. An older, bearded man, his hair white in the flashing ambulance lights, came out of the buggy in a rush, leaving his horse standing in the middle of the road, its sides heaving.