Separate from the World

by P. L. Gaus

  While they tended to Mattie, Branden started pacing off wider and wider circles among the trees. Twenty-five yards farther down the trail, he found a shiny mass of bloody entrails heaped on the ground. His stomach lurched, and he cried out.

  One of the paramedics came up to him, saw the organs on the ground, and blurted out a curse. “I don’t think that’s human,” he said. “That can’t be human. It’s a dog or a pig, something like that. It’s got to be!”

  “OK, look,” Branden said. “We’ve got to hope that this is some animal. That the boy has been kidnapped. If we assume he’s dead and he’s not, we’ll have lost what chance we have to find him.”

  “Right,” the paramedic said and knelt beside the entrails.

  Branden ran back down the trail toward Banks’s property and met Ricky Niell, who was just coming up to the edge of the trees. They stepped aside to let two more paramedics head up the trail to Mattie.

  Off to the side, Branden explained, “I think someone has kidnapped Albert Erb, maybe killed him. He’s four. His clothes are back there on that trail. And his hair has been cut off. Something’s been gutted. There’s blood smeared over Mattie’s forehead. Somebody planned this.”

  Niell asked, “Why in the woods?”

  “These two kids have been sneaking into the woods here to play. They’re cousins.”

  “So somebody knew that,” Ricky said. “Somebody knew they’d be here.”

  Branden nodded. “I don’t think the families know that they’ve been coming here. It’s got to be a neighbor, maybe a relative. Nuts, Ricky, I can’t believe we’re thinking like this.”

  “They’re neighbor kids?” Ricky asked.

  “Right. Albert goes with the Israel Erbs on the other side of Nisley. Mattie is an Enos Erb kid, from right there on the other side of those trees.”

  Niell saw two deputies approaching and he called out, “Roadblocks, Pat. A mile in each direction.”

  Pat Lance turned her partner around, and they ran.

  Branden said to Niell, “We’re gonna have to search the woods back here.”

  Niell asked, “How about the homes?”

  “Those, too. Israel’s, Enos’s, and all the neighbors.”

  “This is going to take too much time,” Ricky complained.

  “He shaved off Albert’s hair, Ricky,” Branden said. “And I think he must have brought other clothes for him. This was planned by someone who knew these kids. This guy knew these kids were gonna be right here.”

  “It could be a she, or a couple,” Ricky offered.

  “Not as likely. But cutting Albert’s hair should mean a disguise, as if he were intending to run with the child. Whoever did this thought it through ahead of time. If he’s still alive when we find him, Albert will be disguised.”

  “Who knew they’d be here?” Ricky asked.

  “Willa Banks, for one,” Branden said. “She headed off toward Enos Erb’s house right after we found Mattie.”

  “Any Amish who knew they’d be here?”

  Branden paused, thought about that, and shook his head. “There are two bishops feuding out here, but I think they’ve got everybody clamped down pretty tight. They’re all going to be accounted for. No Amish would have an opportunity to put this together.”

  Chief Deputy Dan Wilsher approached the tree line and asked, “Roadblocks, Ricky?”

  “Done,” Niell said.

  “Have we got clothing from the boy?” Wilsher asked Branden.

  “Clothing and hair, plus there are animal guts on the ground,” Branden answered. “Back on the trail. There’s a pair of clippers, too.”

  Around the corner of Willa Banks’s big metal garage, two dog teams arrived with their handlers. Robertson was right behind them. He let the dog teams move through to the trail and then joined Niell, Branden, and Wilsher at the edge of the woods. “Where are the families?” he asked.

  “It’s the two families on these farms,” Branden said. “One right next door and the other across the road. They’re all Erbs. I sent Willa Banks to get Enos Erb and his wife.”

  Robertson flipped his phone open and dialed Ellie. “Dan Wilsher will organize a search,” he told her. “Send everybody to Willa Banks’s front yard.”

  Wilsher ran toward the front, clumsy in his black leather loafers, but determined.

  “Ricky’s gonna handle roadblocks,” the sheriff said into the phone. “Send every cruiser, Ellie. We’re gonna box this rat in.”

  He switched off and said, “I want a noose around his neck, Niell. I want you to pull it so tight his eyes will pop.”

  Ricky ran toward the road.

  Robertson asked Branden, “Is there anything I need to see back there?”

  “Once they bring Mattie out,” Branden said, “it’s just forensics. Let the dogs do their jobs.”

  “Then you and I are on the families,” Robertson said.

  There was a shout from the trail, and Branden and the sheriff stepped aside to let a paramedic carry Mattie Erb out of the woods. Her eyes were ranging left and right, as wide as saucers. Her forehead and hands had been cleaned up, but traces of blood still showed around her fingernails and eyebrows. In a voice as thin as paper and as tragic as abuse, she said, “I want my mommy.”

  Robertson stepped forward instinctively, but one of the paramedics said, “We’ve got this, Sheriff.” The man carrying Mattie ran forward with her and laid her down on a gurney that was just being brought around from the front. Then Branden and Robertson fell in behind the paramedics and walked Mattie out to the road.

  There was nothing more the two men could do for her. They watched the paramedics search Mattie for wounds and had to stand back to let it happen.

  Dan Wilsher was organizing groups of deputies and firefighters on the front lawn of Willa Banks’s property. He had laid his suit jacket on the grass, and he was starting to sweat under the arms. Niell would be placing the roadblocks where they’d do the most good. The dogs were already in the woods, working the scent. All of this had been accomplished in less than an hour from the time Ellie had taken the professor’s first call. Robertson looked at Branden and asked, “What are we neglecting?”

  Before he could answer, there was a crashing of leaves and branches behind the two men, at the tree line dividing the two properties, and when Branden and Robertson turned around, they saw little Enos Erb forcing his way through the tangles under the trees, shouting, “Stop! Stop! They’ll be killed!”

  Then Enos saw Mattie in the back of the ambulance, and he buckled at the knees and fell over onto his hands with a strangled cry.

  Branden ran to him, helped him up from the ground, and said, “Mattie’s OK.”

  But Erb snatched desperately at his sleeve and said, “If you go after Albert, they’re gonna kill him.”

  Vera Erb ran past Enos and the professor. At the back of the ambulance, she reached out for Mattie and caught her when she leapt into her arms. Branden turned back to the trees and saw all of Mattie’s brothers and sisters lined up, in denim vests and cotton dresses, watching silently as Vera kissed her daughter repeatedly, and chastised her, too. The little girl rubbed her fingers on her mother’s cheeks, trying to dry the tears, and she spoke Albert’s name time and again.

  Robertson faced Enos and said, “You’d better explain yourself, sir,” and Enos mouthed words helplessly, unable to give voice to his fears.

  Branden drew the dwarf aside and said, “You have to tell us, Enos. You have to tell us what you know.”

  Behind him, a man said, “I can tell you better,” and Enos managed a single word, “Israel!”

  Israel Erb was as tall as Robertson, easily topping six feet. He was dressed in a black Sunday suit, with gray hair spilling out under his black felt hat. He said to Robertson, “One of the children took our Benny’s phone and has been using it. We didn’t know she had it. We didn’t even know Benny had a phone. But, Benny got a call two hours ago, and the child answered the ring. A man said, ‘Stay home. Lock yo
ur doors, or you will never see the children again.’”

  Branden asked, “That’s why you wouldn’t come to your door?”

  Israel nodded. “I sent one boy on foot to Preacher Hershberger’s. He’s closest. We counted one child missing from our household—Albert. The other child, I can see, was Mattie.”

  A paramedic came up to Robertson and reported, “There’s nothing wrong with her, Sheriff. The little girl is fine.”

  Robertson and Branden stepped aside to let Vera carry Mattie toward home. Enos fell in behind Vera, and the whole family of children followed them back through the narrow stand of trees at the property line.

  Robertson said to Israel, “You know that’s not good enough. I need to talk to the girl who took that call.”

  Israel nodded agreement and said, “Our Mary had the phone. We will wait across the road.”

  “You keep them all right there on the farm, Mr. Erb,” Robertson growled. “When I get around to you, I’m going to need some answers.”

  Branden watched the taller Erb walk back across the road and said, “That’s a little harsh, Bruce,” to the sheriff.

  Robertson complained, “They got that phone call over two hours ago.”

  Branden said, “Let me talk to Enos. I can do that better than you. And let me question Mattie. You’d just scare her.”

  Robertson gave a dismissive wave of his hand and fixed his gaze on Dan Wilsher. “I’m going to help Dan,” he said and walked off to join his chief deputy.

  Branden checked the tree line and saw that the Erbs had all filed home. He started to follow them but heard Willa Banks behind him, saying, “You mark my words, Professor. That rat Miller is up to no good.”

  When he turned to her, the professor saw Willa Banks standing on the lawn with her fingers wrapped around another can of beer. She had a rusty lawn chair under her arm. Setting her beer on the lawn, she opened the folding chair in front of him and sat down. “Think I’ll watch a spell,” she pronounced.

  “You’re not going to . . .”

  “Help out? No, Professor. I’m gonna sit here and watch someone make a fool out of Andy Miller. This is going to boil down to money, and I want to see what that sanctimonious Rat Puke is going to do about it—pardon my French.”

  15

  Saturday, May 12 12:10 P.M.

  IT WAS WILLA BANKS who had roused the Enos Erbs from their home. While Branden held little Mattie in the woods, she circled around and came up behind their house. She ran up to the back door and proceeded to pound so insistently that Enos had to answer her. This Branden learned from Enos, while they waited in the front parlor of the dwarf’s home for Cal Troyer to arrive. Branden had called Troyer as soon as Robertson had walked off to join the search team.

  While they waited for Cal, the professor tried a few gentle questions with little Mattie, but she would not speak. Her mother put her to bed. When Cal was seated, Branden started questioning Enos.

  “Was it Bishop Miller who told you about the kids—about the phone call on Benny’s cell? Is that who was in the buggy when I came out?”

  Enos nodded anxiously. Mute, he looked as if he’d never speak again.

  “Enos,” Cal said. “You have to talk to us now. Tell us what you know.”

  Erb’s expression was a mixture of panic and confusion, like a condemned man asked to choose between poison and the noose.

  Branden said, “Mattie is safe, Enos. Now think of Albert.”

  The house was as quiet as a courtroom waiting to hear a verdict. Enos lifted his palms helplessly, swallowed a lump, and said, “The bishop.”

  “Yes—the bishop?” Cal urged.

  “He said we had best all wait in our homes. He told us it was wrong to hate. It was wrong to condemn this man. He told us to pray. But I got so panicked. I got so lost. Oh, I am weak!”

  “I don’t think you are,” Branden said.

  Enos gave the impression of a man interrogating himself on the question of integrity. “The bishop said that a strong man would suffer the least right now. That he would hold true. Never hate. Never condemn.”

  “That’s probably true,” Cal said. “But this is unusual. Nobody would blame you now.”

  “We are to pray,” Enos said, sounding sure.

  “Rightly so,” Cal replied.

  “We are to trust God to know best,” Enos said with greater confidence.

  “Even more,” Cal said. “Especially now, Enos. But help us. Tell us what you know.”

  Tears spilled onto his cheeks. “It’s so hard.”

  He pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He lifted his hip off the chair and stuffed the wadded handkerchief deep into his side pocket.

  “Thing is, Cal,” he said, “I don’t know anything. Only what Willa told me—that they had found Mattie—and only what the bishop said—Albert was missing, too. And that they’d be killed if we tried to find them.”

  On the front lawn, Branden and Troyer stood alone, watched by a dozen pairs of eyes from the Enos Erb house. Branden turned his back to the eyes and told the pastor, “That bought the kidnappers time, Cal. The phone call kept these two families locked in their homes instead of out looking for their children. That bought time.”

  “But why take the children, Mike?” Cal asked.

  “Why take the boy and leave the girl behind? And if they—he—needed time, for what?” Branden said.

  Cal said, “Maybe two kids were too much for him to handle alone.”

  “Then why not kill her?”

  Cal shrugged his confusion.

  Branden offered, “OK. They—he—wants something.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “From whom?”

  “From the Erbs—all of them,” Branden said. “He wants something from the Erbs.”

  “What, Mike? What do Amish have? What can Amish give?”

  Branden turned to look back at the house full of eyes. He gave it a long time, intending Enos to see his worry. To see his dilemma. If the dwarf hadn’t told him everything he knew, he wanted him to realize his error. Turning back to Cal, Branden said, “He knows more than he’s told us.”

  “We should try Israel,” Cal said. “He seems to know the most here.”

  “No, Cal. Not Israel. It’s the preacher who knows the most here. While I talk with Israel, you’re gonna hunt down Preacher John Hershberger. If he wants to be a bishop so bad, let’s offer him a challenge.”

  16

  Saturday, May 12 12:35 P.M.

  CAL RETRIEVED his car from the roadblock at the school on Mt. Hope Road and drove east to find Hershberger. Branden crossed Nisley on foot and found Robertson walking down from Willa Banks’s place. The sheriff asked Branden, “What’d you get from Erb?”

  Branden said, “Benny Erb had a cell phone.”

  Robertson croaked out, “We know that already!” and rubbed his short gray hair nervously.

  The sheriff looked undone by worry. His tie was stuffed into the side pocket of his suit coat, and his collar was loose. His neck was scratched red, and his mouth seemed pulled into an irreversible frown. Shiny beads of perspiration rode the top of his lip, and his eyes were restless, as if he’d missed a dose of his antidepressant. He took his handkerchief out, used it to wipe his lip and then his forehead, and asked, “Where’d Cal go?”

  “He’s going to find John Hershberger. The preacher. The one who’s gonna be bishop of a new congregation.”

  “Ellie told me this was Andy Miller’s district,” Robertson said.

  “There’s a split. Hershberger is taking half the church off on the modern side. Miller asked him to go form a new congregation.”

  “Over what?” Robertson asked. “No, don’t tell me. It’s going to be something stupid like radios.”

  “Science projects at the college.”

  “Is that going to mix in here with these kids, Mike?”

  “I don’t know,” Branden said. “I
really don’t know what’s going on out here.”

  “This the same Benny who died out here a couple of weeks ago, the Benny with the phone?”

  “Benny Erb. He fell off a ladder in that little store right there. But Enos Erb asked me yesterday to look into that.”

  “Why?” Robertson asked as he studied the Israel Erb house. He started walking up the drive.

  Branden walked along and said, “Benny was a dwarf.”

  “Couldn’t climb a ladder?” Robertson asked.

  “Right. You got that fast.”

  The sheriff mounted the front steps of the house and lifted his hand to knock, but Israel Erb was already at the door, and he pushed out to join the men on the porch. The silence the professor had noted before was still in force. There was no movement or noise inside the house.

  Israel said, “Is there news of Albert?”

  “No,” Robertson answered. “We’ve expanded the search.”

  “Do you expect to find him, Sheriff?”

  Robertson eyed the man, took his measure, and gently said, “Not right away.”

  Erb nodded gravely.

  Branden said, “Enos told us that it was Hershberger who told him about his Mattie being taken.”

  Erb said, “He and Bishop Miller. They went together.”

  “So Hershberger knew right away,” Branden asserted. “He knew they’d been kidnapped.”

  “I sent a boy to him when we found the phone and learned about the call,” Israel said. “Our Mary took the call. We sent for the preacher right then, because he lives close by. He decided to get the bishop.”

  “OK,” Robertson said. “So you waited inside, and so did Enos. What else?”

  “You came,” Israel replied. “You are here.”

  Robertson stroked his handkerchief impatiently across his brow and said, “That’s all, Mr. Erb? You didn’t search? Didn’t go looking for them? Why?”

  “The caller told Mary that the children would be harmed if we did.”

  Robertson shook his head with disgust.