The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Ya, I understand.” Abigail wrapped her hands around the plastic mug, looking worn out as she took a sip.

  It wasn’t likely Abigail understood Jemima’s goal, not yet anyway. Jemima pulled out two slices of apple bread, each wrapped in a cloth, from the canvas bag. She needed favors—big ones—but these two needed some fuel, and while they ate, she’d fill them in.

  Abigail and Chris unwrapped their pieces of homemade apple bread and took a few quick bites, using the cloth to keep from touching the bread with their fingers. After working through the night, they needed extra calories, and Jemima wished she had brought them boiled eggs and bacon.

  Jemima fidgeted with the straps to the canvas bag. “I went by the Kurtzes’ place, too. I took them a loaf of cinnamon bread I’d made and said I was there to thank them for all the meals they’d provided for Roy this past year. I kept the conversation casual but found out he hasn’t been to their place in six or seven days.”

  Abigail jolted, spilling coffee. She swayed, and Jemima wondered if she was about to pass out. Chris grabbed her by the arm, steadying her, and whispered something. Abigail nodded as she eased free of Chris’s hand.

  They didn’t look like the couple who’d brought Jemima her horse and carriage three days ago. Had it been only three days since Saturday? This nightmare she couldn’t wake from seemed to have been going on forever.

  “Bischt allrecht?” Jemima poured more coffee into Abigail’s plastic mug.

  “Just a bit woozy.” Abigail took a drink of her coffee.

  Jemima assumed that the news of when Roy had last been at the Kurtzes’ must’ve contradicted what he’d told Abigail this past week.

  Abigail took another sip of coffee. “Why didn’t you tell my Mamm or Daed or the Kurtzes what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not himself. We both know that. I don’t want to start anything that could lead to an inquisition by the ministers. How would getting into trouble straighten out whatever is crooked inside him?”

  “I’m sorry, Jem. I am. I don’t understand him of late, and I’ve tried.”

  Chris finished his last bite of apple bread. “Has he fallen off the wagon?”

  “What?” Abigail asked, sounding much like her brother did when he took calls he didn’t like.

  “Look”—Chris shook crumbs from the cloth onto the brown grass—“I don’t know Roy, but if his behavior has changed a lot over a short period of time, maybe he’s dealing with an addiction, like drugs or alcohol.”

  Jemima’s heart raced. “He was taking painkillers after surviving a bad accident last year. You think he’s addicted? Maybe he took too many and overdosed and—”

  “No one here was thinking that.” Abigail moved in closer to Chris, and Jemima could no longer see her face. “Rather than voicing ideas of why he’s acting so out of character, how about we focus on finding him? You know, avoid the whole cart-before-the-horse thing.”

  “Sorry,” Chris whispered to Abigail. He peered beyond Abigail to see Jemima. “She’s right. So where do you think we should begin looking, Jemima?”

  “We should search the farm and maybe the nearby woods and the ditches running alongside the roads.”

  Chris looked toward the horizon. “That’s a lot of acreage for three people to cover. Unless he’s sitting up and making noise, we’d likely overlook him. We need a solid clue of what area to explore.” He walked a few feet away, apparently studying the land, and then turned back. “Abigail, any chance you and your brother share a cell phone account?”

  “Ya. We need the phones to communicate while working, and it’s cheaper to share a plan.”

  “Would you mind if I check something?” He held his hand out.

  She retrieved the phone from her pocket, put in the code to unlock it, and handed it to him.

  He touched the screen a few times. “Good news. You have the app that allows finding another phone if it’s on the same account.” He touched the screen again. “Success! His phone is linked, and I can see its location.”

  Jemima stumbled as she stepped closer to see. Chris held the screen out to her. On some type of map, there was a phone pictured inside a green circle, and another place on the map was marked with a blue dot. “What does it mean?”

  “The green circle is Roy’s phone. This”—he wiggled Abigail’s phone—“is the blue dot, and it’ll move on the map as we move. It looks to me as if Roy’s phone is a couple of miles from here, maybe on or near your property.”

  A chill ran through Jemima. On or near the property? What if he is hurt? Why else would he not come home and not answer his phone?

  “Let’s get moving.” She hurried back to her carriage.

  “We should use the cart,” Abigail said. “The horse can pull it faster, and it can cross soggy fields.”

  “Gut thinking.” Jemima ran to the cart.

  Chris held Abigail’s phone while Abigail steered the cart, moving in the direction that caused the blue dot to inch toward the green phone icon.

  They drove the mile on the road toward the horse farm and kept going. If only they could go faster. God, please keep him safe. Was God tired of hearing that same prayer over and over again?

  Chris pointed and they took a road to the right. Their large farm sat in the middle of a square with a paved county road on each side. After several hundred feet, he pointed to the right again.

  “Across this field?” Jemima asked. “How far before we hit those woods?”

  “Wait.” He stood. “There’s a long driveway up ahead. Let’s use that first.”

  “Abigail, that leads to one of your Daed’s rental properties.” Not just any property, but Tiffany’s property. Something akin to insecurity or maybe jealousy niggled at Jemima, but she refused to allow it. Roy cut through this property to get to the Kurtz place. That was all.

  “Pippi, move it, girl.” Abigail clicked her tongue, and Pippi picked up her pace. “That’s my tired gal. Wunderbaar gut.”

  The small run-down house came into view. Amigo, Roy’s favorite horse, was nibbling on grass in the small patch of front yard. “That’s his horse!” Jemima got on her knees in the back of the cart, holding on to the side as she peered at the grounds, searching for his phone. Had her husband fallen off Amigo? Was he sprawled somewhere nearby, injured?

  Abigail slowed the rig, and Jemima jumped out while it was still moving. But when she got to Amigo, she saw no sign of Roy. Why was Amigo tethered? “Roy!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Roy!” No answer. Amigo snorted and pranced in place.

  Abigail made a beeline for the house and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she banged on the door. “Hello? Tiffany?” She waited, but no one came.

  Chris continued walking the grounds, studying the screen on Abigail’s phone. He picked up something from the grass on the side of the gravel driveway. “I found the phone,” he announced.

  “Then where is Roy?” Jemima slowly made a circle, looking for him.

  “I don’t know.” Abigail descended the few steps. “But he was here. His horse is tethered, and we found his phone. Did he tell you anything about needing to come to the rental house yesterday?”

  “Nee.”

  Chris walked over to them and held out Roy’s cell. “Can either of you unlock this?”

  Jemima took it. “Ya, the password is zero, nine, one, two. Our anniversary. September twelfth.” She tried it, but it didn’t unlock. “My hands are shaking too much.” She passed it back to Chris.

  He touched the screen several times and then shook his head. “I tried those numbers twice. They don’t work. I can see there were lots of texts and missed calls, but we can’t see any details unless we unlock it.”

  Roy had changed his passcode? When and why?

  Jemima went to the front door and knocked on it even though there was no car
in the driveway. She had probably spoken to Tiffany only twice during her two years of renting from the Grabers. She didn’t really expect anyone to answer, as no one had responded to Abigail’s knocks, but she needed to try.

  “No car,” Jemima mumbled. Could Tiffany have had an emergency and Roy left with her? Or maybe Roy needed medical help for some reason, and this was the closest place. She was really reaching for straws here.

  Jemima went down the concrete steps and walked to the closest window and peered inside. The living room was pretty sparse. Some old furniture with clothes draped over the backs. Baby clothes? And there was a bassinet in the corner. That distinct shape could be nothing else. Tiffany had a baby? Jemima didn’t realize she’d been pregnant, but it’d been close to a year since she’d seen Tiffany.

  Roy had to know, because he and his Daed collected the rent and checked on the house from time to time. Why hadn’t he said anything? It didn’t make sense. Unless he was trying to keep it from Jemima. How many times had he been called away over the past few weeks? She’d assumed the calls were for business. But if he was coming here instead…

  No, that couldn’t be. No. Jemima reeled back from the window as if she’d been stung.

  “Jem?” Abigail touched her shoulder.

  Jemima ran up the short set of concrete steps and tried the doorknob. Locked. “I need to get into this house, now.”

  “Jemima!” Abigail sounded shocked. “We can’t.”

  Jemima jerked on the doorknob. “Now!” She yanked on it again. “Now!”

  “Okay.” Chris stepped up next to her. “How attached are you to this window?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then stand back.”

  Jemima went down the steps. Chris took off his coat, wrapped it around his fist, and broke the window in one quick punch. He removed his hand from the coat and put it on before he snaked his long arm through the broken glass to turn the doorknob. The door creaked open.

  Jemima stepped inside. Chills ran up her arms, and she couldn’t find her voice. She prodded herself to walk, and she slowly moved through the living room, pausing a few times to pick up pieces of baby clothing and then dropping them. The small attached kitchen was bare except for a few empty baby bottles scattered across the countertops.

  She walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. It was as scarce of items as the rest of the house. All the dresser drawers hung open and were empty. The closet was void of anything except a few plastic hangers on the bar. Tiffany certainly wasn’t living here.

  Jemima left the bedroom and crossed the hallway to what must’ve been the nursery. Why did Tiffany leave some of the baby items but take the rest of the stuff from the house? A familiar piece of cloth in the crib caught Jemima’s eye, making her heart beat even faster. She reached in to pick it up.

  Why was this here? Jemima had made baby Laura a wearable blanket that fastened tightly at the back with Velcro. That made it easy to swaddle a baby in the middle of the night, and it had been Roy’s go-to when, as a new parent, he rocked Laura to sleep. Jemima rubbed her thumb across the soft pink fabric. Both Laura and Carolyn had used this blanket, but she’d made a blue one when Nevin was born, which they’d also used for Simeon.

  She could hear Abigail and Chris talking in the other room, trying to piece together what to do next.

  Jemima brought the fabric to her nose and smelled it. It smelled like her husband. Roy wouldn’t have given away such a beloved homemade baby item, and Tiffany for sure didn’t come into Jemima’s house and steal it. It could only mean that Roy felt a deep connection to the baby who lived here. And for this to smell like him, he’d held the baby while she was wearing it. No, no, no! Her mind spun as she sank into the empty rocking chair, clutching the blanket to her chest.

  Ten

  Pain burned in Roy’s arm and neck as he fought his way out of the darkness. Where was he?

  Memories rushed back to him, and he knew he was stuck, unable to get free of his seat belt. His hand touched the cloth he’d wrapped around his injured arm after the wreck. Warm and wet. He was still bleeding. Pain ran like lightning up and down his right arm. It was broken, maybe in several places, and somehow he’d sustained a gash in his forearm, probably from holding his arms over his head for protection as the car rolled. His arm screamed at him for relief, and there was nothing he could do.

  It seemed that more than a minute passed as he willed himself to full consciousness before he could open his eyes.

  Sunlight!

  Finally it was daytime. Based on the angle of the beams of light that floated through the wooded area, he guessed it was around eight or so in the morning. Whatever the exact time was, at least ten hours had passed since the car slid down this embankment, and he ached with thoughts of what Jemima was going through. But now that it was daylight, he could see, and that meant he could get free!

  He was covered in trash bags that were filled with clothes. Tiffany was too, and thankfully she was asleep. He’d leave her that way until he could get free of his seat belt and hopefully find either his phone or hers to call for help. He’d had a pocketknife in his shirt pocket before the wreck. It had to be around here somewhere, and hopefully he could reach it.

  He pushed a bag off him and into the back seat. With the confinement of seat belts and the complete darkness last night, they’d been unable to do anything to free themselves. But in desperation they’d slowly and painfully moved the bags filled with clothes to the front seat to cover themselves and provide some protection from the cold.

  He searched the area for a phone. He saw none, but he did see his pocketknife caught between the console and his car seat. He shifted, trying to reach it, and screamed out in pain. Tiffany stirred.

  All he could manage were short breaths as he eased his uninjured arm into position to slide his hand between the console and seat. Tiffany’s seat belt had unbuckled easily after the wreck, but the car was sitting at an angle, so she couldn’t get out on either side without his help. Because she’d been unable to find her phone in the dark, she couldn’t call for help, and she didn’t think she could navigate the embankment on her own.

  He craned his neck to look at the steep slope. How were they going to climb that in their injured states?

  When Tiffany couldn’t get out of the car last night, she had given up pretty quickly and fallen asleep easily. Maybe too easily, as he used to do when he was taking painkillers. Was she on something?

  While she slept, he’d spent hours trying to break free of the seat belt or find the knife or a phone. Eventually pain and exhaustion took over and he’d given up. Then he fell asleep, the body shutting down after a trauma.

  His index and middle fingers grasped the edge of the knife. Please, God. He squeezed his fingers, trying to hold on to the knife as he worked his hand out of the tight spot.

  Yes! He had the knife. Using his teeth, he opened the blade and carefully moved it to the seat belt and sawed it back and forth, flinching and grimacing from the pain of his broken arm. Whatever seat belts were made of didn’t cut easily.

  What a miserable night it’d been. If staying one step ahead of unbearable guilt and shame was impossible when in full busy mode, being a prisoner in a car with Tiffany was even worse. His excruciating physical pain gave him little distraction from his constant remorse. What was Jemima going through? Had she unearthed his secrets?

  The knife finally sliced through the last threads in the seat belt, and he was free!

  “Tiffany.” With his uninjured hand he reached for her, feeling the bags of clothes they’d managed to place over her for warmth. He touched her shoulder. “Tiffany.”

  “Ow!” She stirred. “What?”

  “Daylight.” He panted. “It’s daylight.” He shifted, trying to move one of the bags of clothes into the seat behind him. “We have to get out of here and climb the embankment.” Say
ing the words was one thing. Making his body obey him would be another. While giving her a moment to wake up fully, he decided to ask again about the baby. “Where’s Heidi?”

  How many times had he asked her? Her response every time was that she’d tell him once he gave her money. Apparently, twenty thousand dollars in cash would do it, but he had no cash. Maybe he could get a loan for that amount, but it seemed ungodly to purchase a baby.

  His thoughts moved to his wife. What she had to be dealing with caused him more pain than his broken arm. But he was alive, and that meant he could look her in the eyes and tell her the truth, including how deeply he loved her. And it also meant he could find the baby and get her to safety.

  He opened the car door, and his body shifted with the movement. Pain bolted through him. Because of the shrubbery, the door opened only partway. Shifting the bags of clothing as best he could with only one arm and lots of pain, he leaned away from the door. Using his leverage with his feet, he opened the door just wide enough that he could get out. Wincing and moaning, he shoved bags of clothes out the door, trying to clear them out of the way.

  Pain throbbed throughout his body. “Where’s the baby, Tiffany?”

  “Help me get out and up the embankment and I’ll tell you.”

  He looked at her, praying her words were true. “Deal.” At the pace of an injured turtle, he got out of the car. Then he removed more bags, clearing the way for her. “Kumm.” He motioned and offered his hand.

  She slid across the seat. “We have to find my phone.”

  “Mine too.”

  Once she was out of the car, he started searching the floorboard as best he could for either phone. Hers was wedged between the floor mat and the bottom of the passenger’s seat. Ignoring the pain, he kept reaching deeper and deeper until he had the phone in hand. Because he didn’t trust her, he planned to use her phone to call his, but her phone was locked.

  He held it out to her. “Call my phone.”

  She seized it. “Why would I do that?”

  While she unlocked her phone and made a call, he searched his foggy thoughts.