The Road Home

by Patrick E. Craig

  His heart jumped. It was a sheriff’s cruiser.

  Sal put his gun in Johnny’s ribs.

  “Pull over but don’t say nothin’. If you want to live and you don’t want to see this cop dead, play it straight.”

  Johnny pulled over and waited, but the cruiser just sat behind them. Then two more sheriff’s cruisers pulled up across the road, and another roared past and took up a position in front of the van. Bull got out of one of the cruisers, and a smaller man who was carrying a rifle got out of the other. The two took up positions behind their cars with guns leveled. A voice came over the bullhorn from the cruiser behind them.

  “You, in the van. Put your hands in plain sight and step out of the car.”

  Sal swore and shoved the gun in Johnny’s stomach. “Roll down the window.”

  Johnny rolled it down and Sal shouted, “If you don’t want me to kill this guy, let us go.”

  “Bull, they have Jenny!” Johnny shouted.

  Sal grabbed Johnny’s head with his free hand and turned it so the police could clearly see his gun now pressed against the back of Johnny’s head. Johnny closed his eyes.

  “Back off, Sheriff!” Sal screamed. “We’re driving out of here. Do what I say or the kid dies and so does the girl!”

  “Throw the gun out and step out of the car,” came the voice from the bullhorn. The sheriff with the rifle took aim at the car.

  “Okay, Sheriff, I warned you!” Sal shouted.

  He pulled back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb. Suddenly there was a crack of a rifle and Johnny felt something hot zip by his ear. It struck Sal’s hand, and the gun flew away. Sal screamed and grabbed his injured hand. Maxie leaned forward, threw his gun out the window, and raised his hands.

  “Now climb out and lay facedown on the ground. All of you.”

  The three men climbed out and stretched out facedown on the ground in front of the van.

  “Lock your hands behind your head.”

  Johnny heard footsteps running toward them, and then strong hands jerked him to his feet. He found himself staring into the eyes of a very determined-looking man. The badge on his coat said “Sheriff.” When the man spoke to him, Johnny could tell that he wanted an answer, fast.

  “Where’s Jenny?”

  A half-hour later a police cruiser pulled up in front of the Springer home. Bobby Halverson got out, walked up on the porch, and knocked on the door. Jerusha Springer answered, her face pale and drawn.

  “Bobby, what is it?”

  “Hello, Jerusha,” Bobby said. “Is Reuben home too?”

  “He’s out at the barn. Come in while I go fetch him in.”

  Bobby went inside and stood with his hat held in front of him while Jerusha went out the back door to find Reuben. He glanced around. It had been a while since he had visited the Springer home. The last time was last Thanksgiving. Bobby remembered it as a pleasant time. The conversation had turned to another Thanksgiving during the Great Storm of 1950, when Jerusha had found Jenny and he and Reuben had rescued both of them from the storm. The Springer family had been close-knit and loving that day. Obviously a lot had happened since then.

  Just then Reuben came in with Jerusha. He walked up and gripped Bobby’s outstretched hand.

  “Guten tag, Bobby. You have news?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not good, Reuben. We found the Hershberger boy, but Jenny wasn’t with him. He was with a couple of tough characters with guns. I haven’t sorted out all the details yet, but the Hershberger kid told me a pretty troubling story about a drug deal gone wrong and fifty thousand dollars the bad guys were trying to get back.”

  “But what about Jenny?” Jerusha cried.

  Bobby paused. “She’s being held captive until the guys we captured come back with the money. It doesn’t look good. This brand of criminals doesn’t like to leave any witnesses. I’m sure once they have their money…”

  Jerusha gasped and sank down in a chair. Reuben took Bobby by the arm with a steel grip.

  “Are you telling me that Jenny is in danger of being killed?”

  “It doesn’t look good, Reuben. She’s in danger.”

  “What can we do?” Reuben asked as he let go of Bobby’s arm.

  “Our only hope is to get the guys we caught to talk. They need to tell us where Jenny is, and then we have to try to get her back. I’ve got them down at the station, but as of now, they aren’t talking. Johnny Hershberger has told us everything he knows, but I’m not sure how to proceed from here.”

  “Bobby, are they going to kill my girl?” Jerusha asked.

  “I don’t know, Jerusha. It’s not a good situation.”

  Jerusha stared at her husband. She got up slowly and turned to leave.

  “Where are you going, wife?” Reuben asked.

  “I must pray for Jenny. It’s the only hope I have left.”

  Part Two

  THE KEY

  PRAYER IS A WONDERFUL GIFT that God has given His children. As we pray, we must believe that God has placed a force in our hands that can shake the very heavens and bring His power down to earth in our hour of need. But speaking our supplications is only half of prayer. The other half, and the most important, is listening to what God speaks to us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Prisoner

  JERUSHA KNELT BY THE BED AND PRAYED. She began without words, but then they came as she wept, begging God to help. And then when she was finally drained and exhausted, a thought came to her. This is what I did before Jenna died. I cried out to You, but I didn’t listen when You were trying to reach my heart.

  Jerusha stopped then and lifted a simple prayer to God. “Jenny is Your daughter, Lord, and You have a plan and a purpose for her life. If it is Your will, let me be a vessel for You to work through to help her.”

  As she finished her prayer, a picture came to her mind, clear and distinct. It was the quilt that she made for Jenna but that ultimately became Jenny’s salvation. Suddenly, a great urgency came over her. She rose from her prayer and went to her sewing room. The old cedar chest stood against the wall. She knelt before it and opened the lid. Pieces of fabric and batting filled the chest, and the faint, comforting smell of cedar rose up to greet her.

  She took some of the pieces out and laid them aside until she came to the parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. She lifted it out reverently and placed it on the floor, untied the string, and opened the package. There was the Rose of Sharon quilt, the most beautiful quilt she had ever made. Tenderly she spread it out on the floor. There was something about just looking at the quilt that built her faith, something of both of her daughters that comforted her and gave her hope. The red silk rose in the center with its hundreds of petals glowed in the light, and the rich blue silk backing set it off like a jewel. It was still a beautiful quilt even though it was ruined.

  Then she heard a voice within her, the same comforting voice that had led her through the storm so many years ago, the voice that showed her the truth about herself as she waited in the cabin for Reuben to come. A familiar, deep peace filled her soul.

  Jenny’s life is like this quilt. Though it is beautiful, it is not whole. Pieces are missing, and stains must be washed away. You have been chosen to be part of that cleansing. You are a key to Jenny’s happiness and wholeness.

  Startled by the clarity of the words, she answered out loud. “But I can’t do anything. I’m here alone. Reuben and Bobby are the answer.”

  Again the voice came to her. I will say again—Jenny’s life is like this quilt. Your hands will give you the key to your prayers, and through them her life can be made whole. Kumme, dochter! There is work to be done.

  Hope leaped up in her heart. Suddenly she gathered up the quilt in her arms and stood up. It was clear to her now. Jerusha knew what she must do.

  Jenny Springer lay in darkness. The motion of the car under her made her sick to her stomach. It seemed like they had been driving for hours. When they took her from Johnny, they t
ied her hands and feet and gagged her and then shoved her in the trunk of the sedan. The men warned her not to make a sound. As she lay bound in the trunk, she had a hard time breathing through the gag, but by some strenuous effort with her face she worked the corner of the cloth up to make an opening to breathe through. Then she slowed her rapidly beating heart by taking deep breaths.

  When she was calm again, she began to think about her situation. She knew she was in the hands of dangerous men who didn’t care whether she lived or died. She also knew that once Johnny gave them the money they would probably kill both of them. Johnny’s only hope was to get help before that happened, and her only hope was to somehow get away from these men.

  The analytical part of her mind tried to take over the emotions roiling through her. And then out of nowhere a scripture verse popped into her head. The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.

  A deep sense of shame crept over Jenny. She was a Christian girl, yet she hadn’t really asked the Lord about anything for weeks.

  I should have talked to You about Jonathan and about leaving home, but I didn’t. Instead I just let my impulsive heart take over, and now here I am. I don’t even know if You still hear me, but if You do, I need Your help.

  There in the darkness a small light of hope began to burn in Jenny’s heart. A conviction settled on her that her God had heard her prayer.

  Sometime later Jenny felt the car slow down and turn right. She guessed that they were leaving the Interstate, and she wondered if they would stop for a break. She had been in the trunk for a long time and was very uncomfortable. The car stopped and then turned left, and she heard traffic passing under her.

  We must be going over an overpass to Moe’s place, wherever that is.

  Jenny thought about where she might be. The only area between Ohio and New York that could provide the solitude needed for a hideout was the Pocono Mountains. She had seen where the Poconos were on maps of Pennsylvania when she researched the Pennsylvania Amish, and she knew there were some fairly remote areas up in those hills. She tried to estimate how long they had been driving and decided it must have been at least three hours. It was an eight-hour trip to New York from Apple Creek, and she and Johnny had driven for more than two hours before they were stopped, so now they must be somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania.

  The road beneath the car no longer had the smooth feel of the Interstate, and she could feel a few bumps that might be caused by potholes. The car swung through a sharp turn, and she knew they had turned onto a back road off of Highway 80 and headed into a sparsely populated area.

  About half an hour later she felt the car turn off the paved road onto dirt or gravel. The road became very bumpy and rutted, and Jenny bounced around roughly in the back. After a few minutes the man driving the car pulled to a stop. Jenny heard the men climb out, and then the trunk opened. One of the gang, a younger man, helped her out and untied her.

  Jenny looked around. They were in a clearing deep in the woods. Brush and brambles filled the spaces between the trees. Ahead was a low, ramshackle building with a wooden porch running along the front. A pile of logs and split wood sat by the front door, and smoke rose from a chimney on the shingled roof.

  Dusk was coming on, and it had started to rain lightly. A chilly wind whistled through the tops of the big maple and beech trees, a portent of snow. The leaves on the trees had turned red and gold at the approach of winter and were starting to fall off. Under different circumstances the beauty around her would have thrilled Jenny, but now it all seemed dark and dreary.

  A fat, balding man with a whiskered face came out on the porch. “Hello, boys. Did you bring me a present?” He leered at Jenny.

  The young man stepped protectively in front of Jenny, an act that was not lost on her.

  “She’s a little insurance we’re holding onto until Sal collects some money our friend from San Francisco stashed back in Ohio,” Luis said. “As soon as he lets us know he has the cash, we may give her to you as partial payment for letting us stay awhile.”

  Jenny’s heart sank. The fat man grinned at her again. “She’s a pretty little thing,” he said.

  The young man glanced at Jenny, his eyes troubled.

  He isn’t happy about this. He must have a good heart.

  He stepped over and said something quietly to Luis. Luis looked surprised and then smiled. “Well, Moe, you may have to work it out with Jorge here. He seems to have a little interest in the girl too.” Luis laughed wickedly and slapped Jorge on the back. “You’re gonna make your bones yet, kid.”

  Moe looked surprised, and then he laughed. “Tell you what kid. I’ll arm wrestle you for her.”

  Jorge stepped over in front of Moe. He towered over the fat man and pushed up against him.

  “Tell you what, Moe. How about you don’t lay a finger on her until I’m done with her.” He put his hand on Moe’s shoulder and squeezed, and Moe winced in pain.

  “Okay, kid, okay. I was just foolin’ around. I didn’t know you had a romantic interest in the little darlin’. Hey, Luis, call the kid off.”

  Luis laughed again and slapped Jorge lightly on the cheek. “A real ladies’ man, just like your Uncle Luis, eh kid?”

  Jorge didn’t say anything, but he took Jenny by the arm and led her inside. The interior of the house was dark and filthy. A wood-burning stove in the corner was glowing red. It was raised off the floor by a several bricks covered with soot and small pieces of wood. A large table with rough wooden chairs around it stood in the center of the room. A big, worn-out couch sat against the back wall, and water-stained acoustic tile sagged from the ceiling. A single bare bulb hung from a wooden beam. A few throw rugs were scattered on the floor. The kitchen area was off to one side, and a fluorescent fixture with one tube burned out and the other flashing dimly hung over the sink.

  Something cooking in a pot on the stove smelled good, and Jenny realized she was very hungry. Jorge pushed her toward the back of the house. They went down a hallway to a small door. Jorge opened it and pushed Jenny inside.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Hope began to wash the fear out of Jenny’s heart. In this dark and dangerous place, she may have found a friend! Jorge stepped out, and she heard the lock click. She was alone and still alive.

  “Thank You, Lord,” Jenny whispered. Then she looked around.

  She was in a small room, almost a closet. A grungy mattress lay on the floor with a blanket and a gray-striped pillow piled on it. A tiny window high up on the wall let in the last of the daylight. There was no latch on the window, but it was held tightly closed by several small, flat bars of metal screwed into the sill around it and then into the window frame. It seemed to Jenny like the room may have been used as a prison before.

  There was a light switch on the wall and a single bulb on a cord dangling from the ceiling. A dirty spiderweb festooned a high corner by the ceiling, and a filthy piece of thin carpet covered part of the wood floor. She switched on the light and then quietly walked over to the back wall and tried reaching the window. It was almost above her outstretched fingers. Besides, it was too small to crawl through even if she could get out the screws that held it shut. Jenny sank down onto the mattress. It was filthy and stained with only the single, dirty blanket to cover her. She leaned against the wall and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.

  “Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry,” she sighed—and then she began to weep, quietly so as not to draw attention to herself. The silent sobs shook her shoulders as all of the events of the last few days overwhelmed her.

  Jerusha held the Rose of Sharon quilt in her hands. She stared at the stains and the rips and the place where she had torn the batting out to start the fire that had kept her and Jenny warm through the freezing nights. In spite of the damage, the quilt was still beautiful. The words came to her again.

  Jenny’s life is like this quilt. Though it is beautiful, it is not whole.
Pieces are missing, and stains must be washed away. You have been chosen to be part of that cleansing. You are a key to Jenny’s happiness and wholeness.

  Jerusha began to examine the quilt, seam by seam, piece by piece. She picked up a pencil and a pad of paper and started to make a list of all the repairs she needed to make. She noted the colors, fabrics, and sewing techniques she would have to reproduce. Jerusha was a master quilter, and her grandmother had taught her to save fabric from quilts she worked on in case of future necessary repairs.

  She looked in the chest and began to gather her supplies. She pulled out a piece of muslin and set it aside. She would need the muslin to try out stitches and repair techniques before she used them on the fabrics. At the bottom of the chest lay the remnants of the two bolts of silk that she had used to make the rose and the background, and a large piece of the cream-colored backing. She laid everything out and made sure she had what she needed to start. Jerusha stretched the Rose of Sharon quilt out flat on the sewing room floor. She sighed. There was so much to do. The quilt was stained. Pieces of the rose petals were torn off or frayed. One whole corner was ripped open and the batting torn out.

  “Where do I start, Lord?” she asked. “There’s so much to be done here.”

  Then a verse from one of her favorite psalms came to her. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.

  “I must start with the secret parts,” she said out loud. Then with a prayer on her lips she began to repair Jenny’s quilt.