Finding Mercy

by Karen Harper

  Despite the fact that Andrew dozed instantly, Ella was so wound up it took her a while to fall sleep…to fall for Andrew…to fall from the water tower, but she didn’t hit the ground…kept rolling down the long, grassy hill toward her lavender…

  That rhythmic roar in her ears…her blood pounding? Was that the sound of the waves as she rode them up and down with Andrew? Oh, no, it couldn’t be the panic pounding in her head, surrounding her with dark water in the pond at home! Help me, I’m drowning…

  She tried to swim, to keep her head up, to breathe. A scarecrow nailed to a lavender cross floated by in the flood, then a clown, a horrible clown with a big gun. Someone tried to put a mask on her face, tie her up so she couldn’t swim. As tired as she was, she had to wake up, stop the drowning fears…ya, the man with the gun! He was going to shoot her!

  Bang! Bang-bang!

  With a gasp, Ella jolted wide-awake. Daylight, not darkness. Oh, she was in the car with Andrew! A white, green and gold car marked St. Augustine Beach Police sat nearby. And an officer was knocking on the driver’s side window. Or was he really a policeman? If that killer could dress up like a clown, then who knew…

  Andrew turned the key in the ignition and rolled the window down. “Yes, Officer?”

  “You two all right?”

  “Just driving north and didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel,” Andrew said. “Is there a problem with parking here for a few hours of sleep?”

  “Sign back there about restrictions, and you drove around a chained barrier that was there for a reason. Where’re you from?”

  “Atlanta, Georgia. I’m Mike Moreland, and this is my wife, Ellen.”

  That’s right, Ella thought. Georgia license plates were on the car, but if the officer looked in the trunk, he’d find the other ones. Andrew had thought fast to call himself by the hit man’s name because that was the only driver’s license they had. But Andrew looked nothing like that killer. And he’d said, My wife, Ellen.

  “How you doing, ma’am?” the clean-cut policeman said and touched a finger to the bill of his hat. “You two don’t like to take turns driving, huh?”

  “Oh, he’s much better than I am at that,” Ella blurted. At least that wasn’t a lie. She used to worry that Andrew didn’t sound Amish enough, but now she had to worry about her own talk. She knew full well that her people, however good their grammar, had a particular cadence to their speech.

  “You’ll need to move on,” the policeman told them. “I can lead you to a nearby motel or a store parking lot.”

  “I’m wide-awake now,” Andrew told him. “Sorry about missing that sign, Officer. We’ll be leaving town now. Thanks again.”

  He started the car. The officer followed them out. As they left the park, Ella glimpsed a wide strip of sand and whitecaps rolling in. She had to admit that some worldly lies had saved them again. And the biggest one was that she was his wife.

  * * *

  “Don’t you think we should leave town since you told that officer we would?” Ella asked as Andrew pulled the car into the drive-through lane of a McDonald’s and ordered Egg McMuffins and coffee for them. They were in a line of cars, since it was breakfast time. It was the first time she’d noticed he had stubble on his usually close-shaved face. Young Amish men looked like that when they first started to grow their beards. With or without facial hair, Andrew had a fine face, even if he looked tired and tense right now.

  “I want to send that email to Branin from the library here before we head north again, and I’m starving,” he explained, jolting her back to what she’d just asked.

  “In Wooster, I think you have to have a library card to use a library computer. And are you sure, just in case Mr. Branin’s the one who has turned against you, that he won’t be able to trace where you sent the message from?”

  “That’s my sharp-minded partner in crime! No, emails with phony addresses are untraceable if sent from libraries or internet cafés, especially if you don’t use your credit card. It’s called spoofing. And if he could trace it, he’d only know we were here and not that we’re heading out. When we get our food, I’ll ask where the library is. We’re on a roll since that cop didn’t ask to see my driver’s license. Even frowning, I don’t resemble Mike Moreland. We’ve been fortunate on the road so far.”

  “Not fortunate, blessed,” she corrected him.

  “Okay,” he said, turning to look at her with the hint of a beguiling smile. “Blessed.”

  Midmorning, as soon as it opened, they went into the library just off Ponce De Leon Boulevard. Of all things, it sat right next to a merry-go-round. At least Andrew hadn’t left her in the car, she thought, but he asked her to sit over in the corner while he headed for the library laptops. She could see him across the room, chatting and smiling with several people who were waiting in line to use them. Why didn’t he try to keep what he’d called a low profile? Actually, he seemed to be concentrating on one woman, a blonde with a big laugh. Ella told herself she shouldn’t be surprised that the woman gave Andrew her library card and let him step ahead of her to take her place.

  In less than ten minutes he was back to Ella. “Let’s use the restrooms and head out,” he said. “Mission accomplished.”

  She hurried after him, then slowed her steps. Alex Caldwell, alias Andrew Lantz, was sure good with women, even ones he didn’t know, oh, ya, he was. So had she fallen for a man who was real skilled at his own disguises? Was she just another willing woman who was more than happy to go along with his wishes?

  Ella banged the door shut to her restroom stall. Her only choice was to trust him now. But she was going to have to keep up her guard, not only in case another hit man found them, but because, in a way, the former Amish Andrew was a hit man of another kind.

  * * *

  The next day was a blur. Cars, trucks and highway I-95 seemed to roll endlessly past and toward them. Rest stops, fast-food places, gas stations, back in the car. She dozed sporadically, but Andrew seemed ever vigilant, uptight on coffee and whatever he was thinking.

  “So how long will it take us to drive to your neighborhood in New York City?” she asked.

  “We’ll leave this car in Washington, D.C., with no plates on it or in it. We’ll put everything we need in our backpacks and take Amtrak—that’s a train—from Union Station into New York’s Penn Station, about a three-hour trip. Then from there, a subway to SoHo. And we won’t be going in my front door.”

  Her head spinning at all the places he mentioned—the capital of the country?—she said only, “I can imagine. But can you be sure your back door isn’t watched too?”

  “We won’t use a back door either, not exactly.”

  He said no more about that. Was he keeping back something that would upset or scare her? At least he had it all planned out. But she felt even more distanced from him to realize that he knew all about these huge cities, so far in miles and mood from the places she knew and loved.

  It took them almost a half hour of cruising to find a rare curbside parking space in Washington. They emptied out her small suitcase that had once been her grandfather’s and put all their belongings into their two backpacks. She was in awe of what she’d seen in the short time they’d driven into and around Washington: massive white marble buildings, wide avenues, huge open areas with monuments to long-dead leaders, lots of drivers, tourist buses and walkers. And a glimpse of Capitol Hill not far from here, swarming with people even at this midafternoon hour.

  “I know it’s warm,” he said, “but you’d better pull your hood up on that jacket to hide your long hair. No, wait—I have an extra baseball cap. Let’s just stuff it up under this.”

  She had no idea who the Florida Gators were, but, with his help, she got her long, heavy braid up under the cap. How strange to wear something with a bill, but it did help shade her face just like the bonnet she was missing. To her amazement he whipped out a pair of sunglasses for her too.

  “Got these at Walmart. I figured you’d refuse to w
ear them in the car, but we’re going to be around a lot of people and, when my name went public about a big trial, there were photos of me in the papers. Both of us need to hide our faces somewhat and blend in.”

  She put them on, and this world went even darker. At least she agreed that the sunglasses, hat and backpack hid her a bit. She watched him as he removed both license plates with a screwdriver he’d found in the car, then threw all three sets of plates in a trash can. He wiped the interior of the car down with wet rags he’d picked up at a gas station to obscure fingerprints.

  “You left the car unlocked,” she said as they started to walk away.

  “With the key on the dashboard. I’m betting someone steals it. If the cops find it first, I don’t need them dusting it and IDing Moreland’s or my fingerprints—and two pairs of mystery prints. You and Grossmamm were never fingerprinted, were you?”

  “Not that I know of. We never trusted the government, and here you’re just learning that.” He only muttered something she—blessedly—couldn’t catch.

  Ella was amazed at the train and bus station with its people, noise and too many shops to count under a sky-high, curved ceiling. Union Station seemed more like a shopping mall where escalators connected three floors of stores with pretty, potted plants all over. That greenery was the only thing that reminded her of home. They bought sandwiches, root beers and their tickets to New York.

  As Andrew had said, the Amtrak Metroliner they took north was a train, but a fancy one. The city, the river, then some rural scenes zipped past outside her window. She wanted to take it all in but a constant hum and the movement lulled her to sleep. She woke with her head on his shoulder and another train, a twin to this one, whooshing past in the other direction so fast it made her dizzy.

  Another huge city, packed tighter and higher than Washington, appeared outside their window. It grew even thicker and bigger: bridges, tall buildings close together, streets clogged with cars, trucks and taxis. Her stomach cramped. She did not know the distance in miles, but she was so far from home.

  They put their backpacks on again, and she followed Andrew off the train and out through a turnstile into the flow of people. Down they went on escalators into the depths of the city. She soon saw that people who were in an extra hurry ran up or down the moving stairs. Others evidently expected it, because they moved way over to the right and let them charge past on the left. She had to be careful not to turn and slam the runners with her backpack.

  Andrew bought subway tickets. They waited as a different kind of train without an engine whooshed in and out of the lighted area with sunken tracks. Looking down them, she could see an entrance to a dark tunnel. Amid a crowd of people, even with Andrew so close—he looked more excited than nervous now—she felt alone.

  The second train that came roaring out of the tunnel was theirs. Amid the push of people, they got on but couldn’t find seats. They had to hold on to a pole as the train plunged into the dark throat of the tunnel. At least the lights stayed on in here. When they went around a curve, Andrew put one hand on the back of her waist to steady her and she leaned gratefully against him. Another lighted station, then another flew by. They stopped at some, not others. The rhythmic clatter of the train was endless. She lost count until he said, “This is us.”

  Ella knew what he meant, but that was a scary thought: This is us. She tried not to judge too hastily, but so far, this was not her, nor could it ever be.

  * * *

  “This is not my usual subway stop,” Andrew whispered as they got off the train and climbed stairs out of the station. “Too many people might recognize me there. We’ll have to do some extra walking. Ella, I knew you’d have culture shock here and I’m sorry for that. I’m sure it’s much harder to go from the peace of the Home Valley to this hectic pace than the direction I went.”

  “Ya—I mean yes. Thanks. I’ll be all right.”

  When they emerged from the subway station, it was getting dark, which must mean it was around eight. “Okay,” Andrew said, “we’re going to need some food to take home with us until we can get a few groceries in, though I guess I left some canned and frozen stuff. I’m going to send you into that sandwich shop over there—see the sign Café Habana? I’ve been in there too many times to go waltzing in now. Take this thirty dollars—don’t dig the stack of money out of your pockets anywhere around here—and get us a couple of roasted pork sandwiches and something to drink. Maybe a side of slaw or salad. I’ll be right here. Here, let me hold your backpack. You’ll have to stand in a line.”

  “They eat this late? Okay, like I overheard someone say here, no problem.”

  Again, feeling she was sleepwalking, Ella carefully crossed the street to the restaurant and got in the carryout line. The place was busy; it took a while to wait her turn. It smelled great in here. Her stomach rumbled so loud she hoped others didn’t think it was thundering outside. She placed her order, paid what they asked, took the food and the change and went back outside.

  Strange, but she felt a little thrill in her stomach to see Andrew—Alex—waiting for her. He helped her into her backpack and carried the sack of food as they walked down a street named—why, it was called Wooster, the same name as the city closest to Homestead!

  And it was probably good too he’d brought them here, because again she noted that New Yorkers on the sidewalks didn’t really look at or greet others like at home. They just kind of passed them by. She tried to copy that I’m busy inward look, but she still couldn’t help studying others. Some folks looked happy, some sad. Most seemed in a huge hurry, maybe to get home after a day’s work. It was pretty obvious that some were outsiders, probably tourists, as they gawked and slowed down to look around.

  They walked several blocks, around corners. Hoping to see more familiar street names, she studied them at first then just gave up. As darkness deepened, lights popped on in busy stores and restaurants. There were fancy lampposts lit, ones shaped like a shepherd’s crook. The cobblestones underfoot were charming too, so at least there were some things to like here. As for the buildings, many were amazingly ornate. Painted metal pillars and arches repeated over and over as they surrounded rows of windows. The buildings looked heavy enough to just plain fall down on them.

  “My address is actually Wooster Street,” Andrew said, “but we’re going in a back way.”

  “That’s a good sign, Wooster, I mean. I’ve been in Wooster, Ohio, plenty of times. It’s a big city for Amish country, but nothing like this.”

  “It will be good to get away from people and have some peace and quiet—some sleep—so I can make some plans. Okay, we turn here on Broome, then down to Greene.”

  Now she noted he looked around more, even up at windows as they walked down a street that had fewer shops and restaurants but more buildings where people lived. “In here,” he said. He led her down a dark passageway so narrow their backpacks scraped if they didn’t walk straight. They emerged from between two buildings into a dimly lighted area with Dumpsters. They were between two blocks of buildings, each one with stories of metal fire escape ladders attached to their rears.

  “Is there a back way into your place from here?” she asked.

  “Not one the super—that’s the superintendent of the building—doesn’t control. We have to go up and over. I’d like to dig out a flashlight, but we don’t need to draw attention to ourselves. I think there’s enough reflected light here.”

  “And up on top, maybe we’ll have the moon and stars—even your satellites—to see by.”

  “Don’t know what I’d do without your spirit, Ella,” he said, and pecked a kiss on her cheek that she felt clear down to the depths of her being. And here, she’d been trying to emotionally distance herself from him!

  They went along the buildings until he found the fire escape he must estimate was on his building. “Give me your backpack,” he said. “There’s a narrow metal guard up above we’ll have to climb through, and you don’t need to be hauling the extra weigh
t.” He bent to put their sack of food in the outer section of his own pack. He strapped hers to his so both of them dangled from the back of his belt.

  “I’ll go up first,” he told her. “You stay at least one flight of stairs below me in case one of these drops. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  “I used to climb trees and was up on the roof of our house once to retrieve a baseball from the eaves. In other words, who knows?”

  Her last words before they began to climb stayed with her and seemed to echo off the metal rungs and stairs: Who knows? She didn’t know who was after Andrew-Alex, maybe after her too. She didn’t know how long she could stand to be in this scary, foreign place, before she went screaming mad to go home. And she didn’t know if trusting this man with her life was going to make or break her future. But she did know one thing and that was—risk and all, culture shock and all, as he’d put it—she was blessed to be with him to help.

  22

  THEY CLIMBED FIVE stories of the fire escape. Strange, but she thought of Janus and Trixie, climbing that circus ladder, then diving into the net. She prayed their Florida friends were all right. Andrew had said that after this was all over, he would contact them, explain and try to make amends.

  From the flat roof, the highest Ella had ever been off the ground, other rooftops and lit buildings stretched as far as she could see. “Too bright in the city to pick out the stars,” she said. “I wish we were on my lavender hill at home.”

  She followed him across the roof, one that butted up to other buildings on each side. Well, not quite butted. She saw a gap of about four feet between them.

  “I was afraid of that,” he said. “My building’s the next one. I miscalculated, but I’ve never gone in this way before, only figured it would work. We’ll have to jump, so I’m glad you’re in pants.”