by Debby Giusti
“You cannot carry such guilt, Ezekiel, when Irene was the problem.”
“Do you not understand, Hattie, why I am to blame? I left Irene that day. She could not take the rejection. Whether she purposely caused the explosion, I will never know, but it was a reaction to my rejection.”
“Oh, Zeke, you have blamed yourself all this time. Irene made her choice when she left Amish Mountain and took up with the drug dealer. She rejected you and the Amish way. Seeing you walk out of her life meant she was not getting what she really wanted. Irene’s death was due to the choices she made not to anything you said or did.”
Hattie gazed lovingly into his eyes. “Do you understand, Zeke?”
“Right now, I cannot dwell on the past. I have to save Becca. If anything happens to her—”
He could not finish the statement, but he was sure Hattie could read the dread that filled his heart. If anything happened to Becca, he could not go on.
“You will find her, Zeke. Gott will lead you to Becca.”
If only Hattie’s words would prove true.
He climbed into the buggy and flicked the reins, then flicked them again, hurrying Sophie along the drive.
“Find Becca,” Hattie called out to him as he turned onto the main road. “And bring her home.”
TWENTY-TWO
Becca ran until she could run no longer. Her side ached, and she gasped for air. Slowing to a walk, she rubbed the stitch in her side and kept moving along the trail, not sure where she was headed.
Thinking back to the time in the buggy with Zeke, she tried to remember seeing other Amish homes that might provide food and water and someplace safe to stay for the night. She needed time to decide where she would go and how she would get there.
On the trip to town, they had passed homes, but none were close to Hattie’s farm. Plus, the path she was on lead up the mountain, not toward town.
She rubbed the back of her neck, realizing her own foolishness. Much as she didn’t want to be alone on the mountain, she couldn’t stay at Hattie’s farm. The deputy would have found her. He would have arrested her and taken her to jail for the murder of Vanessa Harrington.
She shivered at the thought of being hauled away to jail and imagined looking back to see Ezekiel and Hattie standing in front of the house as the deputy’s sedan disappeared from sight with her handcuffed in the rear.
Instead of being hauled away, she had made a decision to save herself and thus save Hattie and Zeke. They would not understand, but she couldn’t stay there on the farm and draw shame on them. Still, she wished she was anywhere but on this lonely path not knowing where she was headed.
The sound of voices startled her. Her heart lurched, and she stopped to listen, trying to get some sense of where the sound was coming from. She scurried farther along the path and up a small rise to a clearing. Hunching down, she peered over the rise and studied the surrounding countryside.
Suddenly she grimaced. She knew where she was and it wasn’t good, but at least, she had stumbled upon another house. Just not one that might offer sanctuary.
Peering over the rise again, she saw Mr. Gingerich standing forlorn on his driveway, talking to himself.
“What are you doing out here, Dad?” Caleb raced out of the house. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“I’m thinking about the studio. Those folks think they can push me around, but they can’t. I own the land and I’m not about to let them buy even one square foot of property. They can continue to rent, as long as they give me what I need. A sizable monthly rent check and access to the property.”
“The only place you’ve gone recently is to the doctor in town, Dad. You don’t need access to the movie studio.”
“Maybe not, but I want to make sure they’re not hurting my land.”
Caleb shook his head. “Come on, Dad. Let’s head back to the house. I have to return to the studio and talk to one of the managers. Promise me you’ll stay inside until I get back.”
“All right, but I’m not about to let anyone tell me what to do.”
“Have I ever told you what to do?” Caleb asked.
“Reckon you haven’t. Fact is, you’ve been a good son, although I’ve failed to tell you that too many times. I like having you with me. If your sister were still alive I would be a happy man.”
“You can choose to be happy even though Irene is gone. People survive. It’s painful and hurts, but you’re strong, Dad. You can go on.”
“Maybe I can survive, but some days I don’t want to make the effort.”
“I need you, Dad. Don’t leave me.”
The old man put his hand on his son’s shoulder and the two of them walked toward the house.
Although she was glad the father and son had reconciled, Becca needed to find shelter. The barn door stood open. Once the men were inside the house, she entered the barn.
The stalls were empty, but the wooden structure still smelled of horses and feed. A tractor sat near the door. No doubt, when Mr. Gingerich turned Englisch, he had forsaken the horse for the engine.
Becca touched the cold steel tractor, thinking of the difference between living plain and fancy. Wherever she ended up, she wanted it to be an Amish community where she could focus on the simple pleasures of life. Gott had answered her prayer in the woods and had brought her to this protective hideaway.
Thanks to Hattie’s deep faith, Becca was beginning to see that her problems had nothing to do with Gott’s lack of concern and understanding, but more her own lack of faith. Over time, she hoped—no, she prayed—her faith in Gott would grow stronger. No matter what had happened to her in the past, she needed the Lord now.
In the rear of the barn, she found bales of hay that would provide a place for her to rest and a horse blanket in the tack room that would keep her warm.
Peering out at the house, she saw no one and scooted through a back door to the empty paddock. Ignoring the chickens who perched in the nearby henhouse, she pumped water into a tin cup, rinsed it clean, then refilled it and drank deeply.
Just as before, Gott had provided.
If only both Gingerich men would stay inside and not come to the barn. The possibility of not being interrupted over the next few hours until she could form a plan gave Becca hope.
She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her head and shoulders, appreciating the warmth, and stretched out on the hay bale. The smell of the dried grass was strong and made her drowsy. Closing her eyes, she wondered about her roots, whether they were agricultural and rural, or urban. What had she done in her former life? Probably not found shelter in a barn cuddled up on a bale of hay.
She drifted to sleep and woke with a start sometime later to the sound of raised voices.
Thoughts of the deputy who had stopped at Hattie’s farm came to mind, but when she threw the covering aside and peered through a small crack in the barn door, she was more confused than ever.
Caleb’s car was gone, and Mr. Gingerich stood in the driveway arguing with someone whose back was to Becca. He wore a dark-colored hoodie pulled over his head, along with jeans and work boots.
The roar of her pulse sounded in her ears, making it difficult to hear what the two men were saying. She strained to see what was happening, then turned her ear toward the opening in the barn, hoping to pick up at least a portion of the heated discussion.
The sound of a fistfight made her stomach tighten. She leaned closer to the opening and spied Mr. Gingerich stagger back, his hand raised to his jaw.
The man who had struck him appeared in view and leveled a second blow, then another. With each punch, Becca grimaced, feeling the pain as the attacker continued to pummel the older man with his fists.
“Tell me what you know,” the attacker demanded.
“I won’t tell you anything.” The older man struggled to maintain his balance. He raised his fists and re
fused to back down.
Becca searched the barn and found a pitchfork.
Peering from the barn, she saw Mr. Gingerich lay sprawled on the ground. The attacker knelt over the old man, his fist raised to strike again.
She slipped out the door, ran full steam toward the assailant and jabbed the pitchfork into his right thigh.
He screamed with pain, grabbed the handle and ripped it from her hands. With a fierce growl, he struck her with the back of the heavy steel tines.
She fell to the ground.
He kicked her side. She gasped.
The guy grabbed her arm and jerked her upright.
She struggled to free herself from his hold. “Let me go.”
“Becky?” His eyes narrowed. “How’d you get here?”
Becky? She blinked, seeing the man who had chased her into the bull pasture. Shaggy beard, beady eyes and unkempt hair pulled into a man bun.
“I’m protecting an old man from you. You’re despicable. Pick on someone your own age.”
He looked confused. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s Kevin Adams.” His voice softened ever so slightly as if he was trying to either assuage her anger or his. “The movie star. We’re friends. Remember?”
The only thing she remembered was they weren’t friends.
He smirked. “Everything will work out, hon, the way I said it would. Vanessa’s gone so you can take her part in the next movie.”
Her stomach soured. “I’m not your hon,” she insisted. “I’m Becca Troyer.”
“You’re taking this Amish role too far. Cut it out, Becky. You made the costume and told me you felt Amish when you put it on, but you’ve got to end this foolish notion to actually become Amish.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nicholas Walker—the producer—planned to fire Vanessa and give you a part in the film.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Of course, you do. That’s why you went to the trailer. He wanted to see you dressed Amish. You worked in the costume department and made the outfit. You told Nick it was totally authentic.”
Kevin pushed her toward the car. “Let’s go back to the studio. We can talk there.”
She balked. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re taking this too far, Becky.” His tone hardened along with the glare in his eyes.
She jerked her hand from his hold. Snippets of conversation and flashes from the past played through her mind.
“You’re wrong, Kevin.” She steeled her gaze as she started to remember. “I didn’t want anything to do with you or the movie business. I made the Amish costume and agreed to model it for the producer, but I had put in my notice and was leaving Montcliff Studio.”
“You wanted to be a movie star.”
She shook her head. “You wanted me in the film because you were tired of Vanessa and needed a new girlfriend, but I was never interested in you. Nor did I want to be a movie star.”
“I’m tired of your foolishness.” He grabbed her arm with one hand and shoved her forward. “You made me look like a fool to Mr. Walker.”
“What about Vanessa Harrington, Kevin? You killed her. I went to Mr. Walker’s office that night because you told me to. It was her blood on the rug.”
He opened the van door and pushed Becca onto the passenger seat. She fought back. He fisted his hand and punched her stomach. She doubled over in the seat, the air whizzing from her lungs. She gasped, unable to breathe.
He lifted the bottom edge of his sweatshirt and pointed to the weapon stuck in his waistband. “Don’t try to cross me, Becky.”
Still struggling to breathe, she turned to glance at Mr. Gingerich’s limp body. “Help...the old man,” she gasped. “He’s hurt...could freeze...to death.”
“Which is exactly what I want.” He slipped behind the wheel, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.
Despondent, she cowered away from him and glanced back, seeing Mr. Gingerich. Protect him, Lord. Send help.
On the opposite side of the entrance road, movement caught her eye. Someone in a buggy. He jumped to the ground and ran toward the van just as it pulled out of the drive.
Zeke!
Once again, snow started to fall. Zeke ran all the faster, his arms reaching for her.
Kevin pushed down on the accelerator. The van fishtailed onto the road heading up the mountain.
She looked back, her heart breaking seeing Zeke as he continued to run after her.
Tears streamed down her face. She wasn’t Amish, which meant she couldn’t be with him. If she couldn’t be with Zeke, nothing else mattered.
* * *
“Becca!” Zeke screamed as he ran after the van, his boots slipping in the snow. The van accelerated even more and disappeared around the bend.
The man who had chased Becca had found her.
Although frantic to save her, Zeke had to ensure Levi Gingerich was all right. He ran back to the older man, relieved to find him sitting up and wiping his head.
The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding. Zeke put his hand under the man’s shoulders. “Mr. Gingerich, let me take you someplace safe.”
“Zeke, you’ve got to get that guy. Name’s Kevin Adams. He claims to be a movie star. He wanted to find Caleb. He’ll come back. You’ve got to warn my son.”
“We can call him.”
The old man shook his head. “My home phone’s not working, and I refuse to get a cell.”
Zeke sighed with frustration. “It is not safe for you to stay here, sir.”
“It’s my house. I’m not leaving.”
“I’ll take you to my aunt’s house.”
“You mean Hattie’s place?
“Yah. She will tend the cut on your forehead and give you something warm to eat.”
Working quickly, Zeke eased Gingerich into the buggy and covered him with a blanket. Then he hurried Sophie down the hill. All the while, his heart was torn in two, thinking of Becca. Where had the guy taken her and what would he do to her?
Hattie heard their approach and was on the porch as they neared.
“What has happened?” she said, hurrying to help Levi down from the buggy.
Zeke filled her in. “Take care of Mr. Gingerich. I’ll head up the mountain. I have to find Becca.”
“Be careful, Zeke. The roads are icy.”
“If Mike Frazier stops by, tell him I could use his help.”
Once assured Levi and Hattie were safely inside with the doors locked, Zeke flicked the reins, encouraging Sophie onto the main road.
The low cloud cover and falling snow added to his concern about Becca, not knowing where she was and what the man planned to do with her.
“Giddyap, Sophie. We have to find, Becca.”
Gray sunlight filtered through the dense clouds and barren trees. Glancing up, Zeke saw the waterfall in the distance. A flash of chrome from a vehicle appeared on the winding access road that led to the falls. His gut wrenched thinking of the boy who had fallen to his death, his body washed downstream and into the river, never to be found again.
“Gott,” Zeke said, not knowing if his prayer would be heard. “Protect Becca and stop Kevin Adams. Forgive me for the mistakes in my past and let no harm come to Becca.”
He clucked his tongue. Sophie increased her speed.
A fierce wind blew and the snow fell harder as they climbed in elevation. Zeke pulled his hat down farther on his head and blew into his hands to warm them. He had to get to the top of the mountain, but would he get there in time to save Becca?
TWENTY-THREE
Kevin was driving like a madman. Becca clutched the dash with one hand and the console with the other and gasped as they rounded each curve in the road. She looked out the passenger window at the sheer drop-off that rimmed the out
side edge of the narrow roadway. Her stomach roiled, and she glanced away, unwilling to be frightened by the steep cliffs and river far below. She had enough to worry about with a crazed lunatic at the wheel.
“Slow down,” she screamed. “You’re going to kill us.”
Kevin laughed. “That’s the plan.”
“What?”
“I’ll make it look like you drove off the road. You took the van once you realized everyone knew you had killed Vanessa.”
“I couldn’t and wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“I’ll tell people you wanted the lead role in the next movie. You made the Amish costume so Mr. Walker would give you the part. You had an Amish grandmother who taught you how to sew.”
“So I truly am Amish.” Relieved to confirm her ancestry, she was terrified of what might happened next.
“You lived with your grandparents more than a year, Becky, after your mother went to jail.”
She wanted to cover her ears and drown out his voice. As much as she needed to remember her past, the fact that her mother was a criminal was too painful to bear.
“Once your grandparents died, you had no one. That’s how you ended up working for the studio in the costume department. I was tired of Vanessa and wanted someone new. You weren’t interested in me so I convinced Nick Walker to give you an acting role, hoping your feelings for me would soften.”
“You tried to manipulate me, Kevin, but I wanted nothing to do with acting or with you.”
“Vanessa got wind of my plan to convince Nick to give you an acting part. You know Vanessa. She had a temper and knew how to throw her weight around if someone tried to cross her.”
Becca could see the carpet and the bloody weapon in her mind’s eye. “You killed her, Kevin.”
“I didn’t kill her, but everything points to you being the killer.”
“That’s crazy.”