The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He hadn’t left her! He hadn’t run off! Hope unleashed inside her with the fury of a windstorm.

  “Abigail!” she yelled again before taking off and running toward the man.

  He slowly got to his feet and put one foot in front of the other. His head was down, and he was cradling his right arm.

  “Roy!” Jemima ran, tears flowing. He hadn’t left her. He was doing all he could to make his way home. She didn’t know why his horse had been at Tiffany’s or why he’d given her their daughter’s blanket, but this was the man she’d married: the one going through hell or high water to get to her.

  She was out of breath and unable to speak by the time she neared him. He held up his hand, palm toward her, slowing her pace before he cradled his arm again.

  “Dear God,” she gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  He thrust the straps of a bag toward her. “The baby,” he panted, barely audible.

  The baby? That’s what is on his mind?

  “This”—he jiggled the straps—“is the key to finding her.” He drew deep breaths, looking too weak to stay standing. “Don’t let go of it. I have to find her.” Who did he mean by her? The baby or Tiffany?

  Jemima steadied herself despite her hurt and anger. “Ya. Sh. I’ve got it.” She put the strap over her head and shoulder.

  “Promise me, Jem.” His legs began to give way.

  She tucked her shoulder under his arm to keep him from falling.

  Fast-paced steps were coming up behind her. She turned her head to see Chris closing the gap. “Easy.” She held up a hand and then gestured at Roy’s wrapped and bloodied arm.

  Chris slowed and somehow swapped places with Jemima. “Abigail is bringing the cart.”

  “He needs to be seen by Doc Grant.” Jemima had some of Roy’s blood on her hands. Thank God for the kindhearted medical doctor who tended to the Amish. “Sometimes he makes house calls, but my guess is he’ll want his machines and surgical room.”

  “Unless he’s so injured that he needs a hospital.”

  “Doc Grant sews fingers back on and does all manner of emergency things like this at his office.”

  “Jem.” Roy reached out and touched her chin.

  She stood stock still and looked him in the eye.

  “Listen to me.” His body trembled, maybe from the cold or maybe he was going into shock. “That computer is my only chance of finding Heidi. Let no one have it, not even if Tiffany comes for it. Promise me.”

  She didn’t want to give her word or think about Tiffany or the baby. She wanted to tend to her husband, but she nodded. “Ya, I promise.”

  His eyes closed, and his legs collapsed. Chris kept him from falling, but Roy crumpled to the ground.

  * * *

  The world was black, but it was warm and there was no pain. “Roy.” A warm compress dabbed across his brow. “Kumm now. It’s time to wake.”

  He tried to pull free of the darkness.

  “Kumm.” Someone patted his cheek. “Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes and stared into his wife’s face. Had it all been a bad dream? “Ach, mei liewi Jem.” His wife recoiled at the words my dear, and dozens of memories pelted him. The strain on her face let him know that it hadn’t been just a nightmare.

  “I’m so sorry, Jemima.”

  She pursed her lips tight and nodded. He looked around, but dizziness got the better of him. Where was he? He wasn’t at home, and he wasn’t in a hospital.

  Chris stepped into view. “Hey.” He sat in a chair next to the little bed Roy was in. “You’re at the clinic, Doc Grant’s place. You know it?”

  Roy nodded. Were his wife and sister not talking to him?

  “Gut.” Chris smiled. “The doc’s busy, so I’ll just tell you. Your arm has three fractures and a serious gash. He was able to set the bone, but you’ll need X-rays every week or so to make sure the bones are staying aligned as your arm heals. He put stitches in the gash, but you lost a lot of blood. You also have small cuts and contusions, so you’ll be really sore for a while. We good?”

  “Ya.” He willed himself to stay awake. “We have to find Heidi. She could be in danger.” Warmth and grogginess tugged at him, and his eyes closed.

  “Roy? Listen up.” Chris snapped his fingers.

  Roy tried to respond.

  “Roy.” Abigail leaned over his bed. “We’ve been trying, but we can’t get into the laptop. It’s password protected.”

  “Not that we have a clue what we’re looking for anyway,” Jemima said.

  He knew the password, didn’t he? A couple of months ago, Tiffany had handed him a small stack of bills to pay, and one of the envelopes had a strange word written on it, one he assumed was a password. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time. What was it? Something that sort of fit the mess they were in. He fought against the fogginess and prayed to remember.

  Messy, soupy…“Stickystew. One word, first letter capitalized. Then the number three and an exclamation point.”

  He heard someone tapping on the keyboard.

  “I’m in,” Chris said. “What am I looking for?”

  “Messages.” Why was it so hard to talk? “Every text she sends or receives on her phone goes to Messages on her laptop.”

  “I’ll need someone from the clinic to give me the password to the Wi-Fi before any recent messages will download. Give me a second.” Chris left the room.

  He could feel Jemima’s anger, and he wanted to talk to her, but it was all he could do to get information from his brain to come out of his mouth. He fought to stay awake.

  “Okay.” Chris was beside Roy’s bed. Had he fallen asleep again? “Messages have updated, and I’m in the app and reading through them. The most recent messages are between two people. One’s from Tiffany, saying she’s heading for New York. She asks someone named Amber to keep the baby, and…” Chris’s voice trailed off.

  Roy didn’t have it in him to ask what he was thinking.

  “Okay”—Chris resumed talking—“I have a name, phone number, and address that I’ve put in my phone.”

  “Gut.” A weight lifted from Roy, and tears threatened, but he reeled in all visible signs of his emotions. Jemima wouldn’t understand his tears. He didn’t understand them. “We have to get her.” He tried to sit up, but nausea hit so strong he gagged and fell back.

  “I think you’ll have to stay here.” Chris closed the laptop and set it on the stand beside the bed.

  “Help me sit up.” Roy held out his good hand.

  “Roy,” Abigail chided.

  But the voice he heard the loudest was the silence from his wife.

  Roy kept his hand out and Chris took it. Roy’s head spun as he pushed away the covers and put his feet on the floor. He stayed put, hoping the room would stop swaying. He then stood, but his knees buckled. Why?

  Chris caught him and helped him sit on the edge of the bed. “Look, man, what you’re asking is a big undertaking. We can call an Uber driver and handle it ourselves. You’ll just make it more dangerous if we have to watch you.”

  Roy stared at the floor. “Ya.” He hated to put them in this position. “You and Abigail go get her.” He and Jemima needed this time to talk anyway. “You do anything you have to, but do not leave without her.”

  Abigail was across the room, near the door and next to Jemima. “Do anything?” Abigail stepped closer. “What do we tell them? That we’re at their home to get a baby? That they should give her to us because Roy said to?”

  Roy pushed against the bed, trying to get back into it so he could lie down. Maybe then the room would stop spinning. “Her mother abandoned her, and whoever these people are, they don’t want Heidi. You’re there to take her off their hands.”

  “And if they balk?” Abigail asked. “I’ve never taken a single thing from someone’s ho
me that wasn’t offered to me—not even a pencil or a cookie. But we’re supposed to take a human?”

  He grimaced. Was there no way to avoid saying the awful truth like this when he and Jemima had yet to talk? “You have the legal right to take her.” His eyes moved to Jemima’s. “There are no words to let you know how sorry I feel about all this, Jem.”

  His wife’s arms were folded, her face was like carved stone, and her eyes were glued to the floor.

  He looked at his sister. “I think the people keeping Heidi are addicts. It’s the only thing that makes sense of their callousness and endless need for money.”

  Was there another way, some possible way to avoid his sister and Chris’s having to get mixed up in the mess of his making? Regret owned him, but he didn’t know another way to get Heidi to safety.

  “If they’re addicts, then why aren’t we calling the police?” Abigail asked.

  “It may come to that, and if so, I’ll have to accept it.” His mind was clearing, and he willed the words forward so he could make his sister understand. “If police come, they’ll see that people on drugs have Heidi and they’ll hear the ugly, messy story surrounding her. I don’t think they’re allowed to make a judgment call and hand the baby over to you or even me. They’re most likely to send her to foster care, and if that happens, the courts and judges and family services will get involved.”

  Maybe he needed to relinquish control and let that happen, but he couldn’t. Not yet anyway. His grief for his infant daughter and his desperate need to hold her and make sure she was safe was too strong right now. He needed to protect her and have a say in her future, just as he did with his other children.

  “Now give me my phone. I’ll forward what you need. Then take my ID.”

  Abigail asked nothing else and handed him his phone.

  Roy unlocked it and searched through the few images. He clicked on Heidi’s birth certificate and sent the image to Abigail’s phone. “Since you’re unsure of your footing, let Chris do the talking.”

  Abigail tossed his billfold into his lap.

  He pulled out his ID. “Do you have your ID with you?”

  “Ya, but why?”

  “To prove to Amber that you and I have the same last name. Use the IDs and what I just sent via text. Now go.”

  Chris checked his phone. “Uber’s here.” He headed for the door.

  Abigail stopped in front of Jemima, and Roy heard no words and saw no gestures, but Abigail then left.

  Jemima came from the far corner of the room, and Roy froze. She took his phone from his hand and touched the image he’d sent to Abigail.

  “I can explain it, Jem.” He reached for her hand, but she backed away.

  She studied the screen, enlarging the image and scrolling as she read. She seemed to stop breathing.

  “Listen to me. It wasn’t an affair. I don’t recall—”

  Her eyes seemed fixated on one thing, and she enlarged the image again. The color drained from her face. “You’re listed as the father.”

  “This is a horrible way for you to learn this, but it’s not at all what it looks like. I promise.”

  She thrust the phone toward his face, holding it out, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re listed as the father.”

  “It’s not how this looks.” Was she able to hear anything he was saying?

  She dropped the phone onto his bed.

  “Jem, I need you to hear me.”

  She stumbled out the door.

  “Jem! Just hear me out!”

  But she was gone. Her heart was broken. All manner of lies were probably circling in her mind about how this could be, and he was too weak to go after her.

  How had he come to this place where his wife learned the truth in the worst way possible?

  Dear God, help her.

  Thirteen

  From the back seat of the Uber car, Abigail stared out the window as the countryside and farms disappeared and stores filled the landscape. At first the stores looked like all the ones she saw when a driver took her to a chain grocery store, but the farther they drove, the more decrepit the buildings became.

  It hurt to breathe. Her brother had fathered a child with another woman? How could anything like this be happening to her family?

  Chris reached across the seat and covered her hand with his. He gently squeezed it, apparently no more willing to talk about any of this in front of a stranger than she was.

  They’d been in the car for nearly an hour when the driver turned into an area that looked like an array of long back alleys but instead turned out to be narrow roads with cars pulled halfway onto the sidewalks. They took several more turns, and each time the conditions got worse.

  The driver adjusted his mirror. “This doesn’t look like your kind of neighborhood. You’re sure about this?”

  “Yeah.” Chris pulled cash from his wallet. “I know how Uber works and that it doesn’t involve giving you cash. But here’s the thing: it would be best if we didn’t have to wait for another Uber driver to get to us.” He held a hundred-dollar bill over the seat. “We only need fifteen minutes. Any chance you’d wait for us?”

  The driver looked at the money. “Not if something illegal’s going on. No way. I got a wife and kids, and—”

  Abigail shifted, catching the driver’s eye. “It’s not illegal. A baby. My…”

  “Niece.” Chris finished the sentence.

  She couldn’t make herself even say the word. This baby seemed more like an unwanted stray cat than a niece, and Abigail hated herself for feeling that way.

  “Ya.” How weird her hesitancy must sound to the driver. “Her name’s Heidi, and she was abandoned by her mom and given to people we don’t know. We’re here to pick her up.” She held up two IDs and the phone as if somehow that would explain it to the driver.

  The man shrugged. “Not a problem. I believe you.” The GPS said they’d arrived at their destination, and the driver stopped the car. “But hanging out in this neighborhood looks unwise to me, so I’ll give you the fifteen minutes you asked for but not a minute more.”

  Chris nodded and the man took the money. “Thanks.”

  They got out of the car. A toddler wailed. Dogs barked. Deep voices shouted in anger. On each side of the narrow road were old buildings with broken windows and rickety stairs. Tires and mattresses and trash were everywhere.

  She hadn’t realized people lived this way.

  “Apartment 2B should be up these steps.” Chris pointed to the lengthy set of wooden steps running along the side of the building. But first”—he held up his phone—“I’ve set the timer to thirteen minutes. If we’re still inside when it sounds, you take the baby and walk out. Get in the car and go.” He motioned toward the steps, and they went toward them.

  “What if I don’t have the baby in my arms by that point?”

  “You’ll have her.” He sounded so confident.

  Her heart pounded. “So why isn’t the plan for you to leave with us?”

  “It is.”

  She stopped halfway up the stairs. “You’re talking in circles.”

  “Sorry.” He tapped his phone, showing her the timer, and they started up the stairs again. “I wish you could stay in the car, but for numerous reasons I couldn’t say in the car and don’t have time to explain now, you need to go with me. We’ll follow each other’s lead, but if things get off track, you do exactly as I say when I say it.”

  Her thoughts and feelings were as unfamiliar and unpleasant as her surroundings. “You sound as if you know what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t. Maybe getting the baby will be easy and everything I’m saying is unnecessary. But we have to go in with a plan.”

  What plan? For her to walk out with the baby? How was that a plan?

  They came to a door with 2B spray-painted o
n it. He knocked firmly.

  She fidgeted with her phone and the two IDs. “The plan can’t be for the baby and me to get out and leave you behind.”

  “That’s the worst-case scenario, but if it happens, once you’re in the car, call the police and give them this address while the driver is leaving with you and the baby.” He tried the doorknob and it turned. “We clear?”

  An infant wailed. Surely it was Heidi. The cries caused Abigail to long to comfort her, yet she also wanted to pretend Heidi didn’t exist.

  Had she always been this shallow but had never been tested enough to realize it? And why hadn’t Chris and she gone to the police? Roy’s plan had seemed simple, but looking at this place and seeing Chris this uptight and alert was disturbing.

  He put his hand into hers. “I need you to trust me, Abi. Can you do that?”

  She certainly couldn’t trust herself. She was confused by everything, including her own feelings about Heidi. “Ya.”

  He knocked again. When there was still no answer, he tried the knob. To her surprise, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open.

  Abigail touched his arm and nodded for him to enter after her. He stepped back.

  “Hello?” Abigail sang. “Auntie here, looking for Heidi.”

  A fortyish woman in a tank top and pajama bottoms walked into the living room. Two men, one massive and one average, followed her.

  “Who are you?” Average Guy started laughing. “Look, man, some religious cult has arrived.”

  Abigail chuckled, determined to at least pretend to be a good sport. “I’m here for the baby.”

  “Good. This is our place, and one night of that is more than enough,” Average Guy said.

  Abigail forced a smile. “I’m sure.” Why were they at home last night and today? Didn’t anyone work a shift anywhere?

  The sound of crying was coming from down the hallway, but when Abigail headed that way, Massive Guy stood in front of her. “Where’s the money?”

  “Oh, yeah, the money.” Chris pressed something on his phone. “Good grief, man, let her get the baby and shut her up so I can hear you.”