Forsaken

by Leanna Ellis

  His clean-shaven jaw, the sure sign of an unmarried man, clenched. Cut from the same cloth as his brother, Jacob—Levi being the eldest—the two brothers resembled each other with Fisher family characteristics—broad foreheads, broader shoulders—but they were boldest in their differences. Jacob had taken after their father with his dark hair and eyes, whereas Levi resembled their mother with fair hair and deep blue eyes. Levi was quiet where Jacob was boisterous and full of life. Or had been. Jacob’s curiosity made him adventurous and searching, whereas Levi seemed…content with all that was and never seemed to questions things the way Jacob had.

  There had been moments over the past two years, while Levi apprenticed with her father, when she’d hoped Levi would flash a light beneath her window. The trouble was she compared every man with the one she had loved and lost, but her occasional weakness—an attraction to Levi—had been swallowed up by the voice that spoke straight into her heart.

  As Levi approached now, striding up the back steps, the intensity of his gaze made her insides shift and stir. “Hannah.” His voice was as deep as the roots of a pine tree. “It is time for supper. Would you care to sit with me?”

  His polite question showed he didn’t take her acceptance of their pairing as a guarantee and she appreciated his courtesy. Her cheeks grew warm in spite of the coolness of the day, and she dropped her gaze to the wooden floorboards. “Danke, Levi.”

  “Rachel requested we follow her and Josef.”

  Hannah glanced toward her sister, who smiled, her hand on Josef’s arm, and Hannah suspected they were discussing the successful pairing. She gave a brief nod to Levi and walked beside him toward the wedding couple. A procession of the newly formed couples began, trailing through the gathered guests until they reached a table designated for the wedding party. Even though Hannah suspected everyone was searching out their own daughters or cousins or nephews, she still felt as if all eyes were on her and Levi, and her heart galloped in her chest.

  After a quiet moment of prayer, Levi leaned toward her, his shoulder grazing hers. “It was a fine day for a wedding, ja?”

  She nodded, her throat tight.

  “Josef is a good man.”

  “Yes. Rachel is blessed.”

  He nodded and sampled the chicken.

  Hannah eyed the other couples around them chatting with each other, eating, and laughing. All seemed to be enjoying themselves, even her friend, Grace Wagler, who had been seated beside Amos Borntreger, a pairing Hannah knew Grace would never be pleased with, as Amos had a tendency to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Still, Grace smiled and spoke amiably about the day’s events.

  Levi seemed comfortable eating and not conversing, which suited Hannah well too. She was thankful he at least had good manners but felt guilty for the silence between them, so she said, “I heard there was an Englisher here this morning.”

  Levi swallowed and nodded. “Ja, drove up with the newehockers’ buggies in a fancy car. Thought Adam Smucker would trip over his jaw staring at the fancy rig.”

  “Did you speak to him? The Englisher?”

  “Your grandfather did first. But ja, I did too. Seemed a nice fellow. Just lost.”

  “Were you like the others who ached to ride in the fancy rig?”

  He paused, his arm resting on the table’s edge. “Nah, Hannah. The English world holds no interest for me. There are other things more fascinating to me now.”

  Her stomach shifted as his intense gaze bore into her. Embarrassment churned inside her with a steady paddle of heartache. “But Jacob…he yearned for English ways.”

  Levi’s mouth compressed and he stared for a long moment at his plate.

  How careless of her to mention his brother! Hard as it was for her to endure her own heartache, a brother must find it equally painful if not worse. She placed a tentative hand on Levi’s elbow. “I’m sorry, Levi. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “It’s all right. I know you loved him too.” He leaned toward her, just a slight inclination, but she felt the heat of him pressing against her. “Would that I could make you smile again.”

  Never before had he referred to the changes Jacob’s death had brought. Never had he dared. But it was her fault for speaking his name, and she glanced away, tears prickling her eyes, then stared at her own plate full of tempting foods that she could not seem to eat. Mamm would think she was sick. Rachel would think she was in love.

  She’d learned over the last two years that Levi’s features closed up tight and became unreadable when his brother was mentioned. If Hannah said his name at home, Mamm said, “You must move on, Hannah.” If she whispered his name around Grace, her friend patted her arm, hugged her quickly, then directed her attention to Amos or Levi or any of the other available men—anything to distract and discourage looking back, wishing, or regretting.

  It’s the Lord’s will. That was the Amish way. And she believed it too. Or had. Until Jacob died.

  Children romped around the front porch, their clomping and laughter a good interruption. A couple of the older girls rushed toward the kids to quiet them and help them with their plates. Noah’s little sister, Esther, who had just learned to walk, teetered forward, but an older girl’s quick hand pulled her back from the edge.

  Grace murmured something to the others at the end of the table about Ruby Yoder. Ruby had once shared with Hannah about an English boy she’d met, and Hannah suspected Ruby had run away to be with him. The district would not have shunned her, as she was not yet baptized, but it would have caused an uproar in her family and her parents much pain. Still, Hannah admired Ruby for following her heart and wished she too had gone away with Jacob.

  “Hannah?” Levi’s hand touched hers beneath the table. Just a brief encounter but it caused a fluttering in her belly, like a new butterfly taking flight for the first time.

  Hannah blinked and lifted her gaze to meet his. Something about this Fisher brother made her feel unsure. Would she have ever felt this way about him if Jacob had lived? Guilt acted on her like a splash of ice water in the face.

  “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m fine, Levi.”

  He studied her for what felt like a full minute before he accepted her words. “Are you going to the barn singing tonight?”

  She shook her head, lifted a fork, and forced down a bite of buttery noodles. “No, I…uh…think not.”

  Tonight, she would go see Jacob.

  Chapter Six

  Hours after arriving in Promise, Pennsylvania, Roc drove around the area, speaking with Mike on the phone, who said there were no leads on the missing Pennsylvania teenager other than she was blond, blue-eyed, and Amish. But the Amish didn’t take photographs so no pictures could be compared to the body in New Orleans. The parents had provided hair samples from Ruby Yoder’s brush for DNA testing. Still, the girl could be off having the time of her life or regretting her decision to leave home.

  Animals discovered by police or citizens on the side of the road or in ditches with their throats chewed convinced Roc he was in the right place and on the trail of whoever had killed Emma.

  Roc unpacked his car and carried his bag toward the room at the back of the B&B, passing through a small courtyard, which had a hot tub and gazebo. A Chihuahua sat on the lap of a red-headed teenage girl, yapping until she shushed it. But the girl never looked up, just kept her nose in a book. She was surrounded by wilted, brown plants, which didn’t seem any better suited to the cold weather than Roc, but the teen seemed impervious to the chill in her furry jacket. Even her disgruntled lap dog wore a coat, like it was attempting to be Paris Hilton’s dog. Whatever the teen was reading caused a smile to curl her lips. A glance at the dark-covered book made Roc shake his head. Anthony should have a talk with this one and compare notes.

  “You know,” he said to her in passing, “vampires don’t shimmer in sunlight.”
r />   “How do you know? Oh, never mind.” She went back to reading.

  According to Anthony there was a lot of misinformation in literature, not that Roc believed in any of that vampire crap. Who would want to read about such nonsense anyway?

  He walked on. When he reached the steps that led to the second-story room he’d rented, the girl called to him, “You really should read this.” She waved the book at him. “You might end up a vampire fan.”

  “Doubt it.” He doubted he’d be a believer either. Not the way Anthony was. But Roc wondered why such a vile creature had become a superhero. That bothered the judicial side of him, like putting Ted Bundy on a pedestal. “Are you a fan?”

  “Oh yeah!” She sat forward, a gleam brightening her eyes.

  “Why?”

  “They’re cool.” Her innocence worried him. Shouldn’t evil be called evil? She lifted the book. “They’re vegetarians and nice.”

  What if they were behind this latest misinformation? He pinched the bridge of his nose. Obviously he’d been driving too much over the last two days. He needed to get some sleep. Still, he hated that this teen—and so many like her—just accepted what they heard as if it were truth.

  “So, what…they eat carrots?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Probably so for engaging in this conversation. “Didn’t you ever hear you can’t squeeze blood from a turnip?” The teen stared at him like his head had just popped off. “These vampires of yours…what do they do? Drink Vulcan blood?” He chuckled at his own joke.

  But he was the only one with a sense of humor as the girl rolled her eyes. “They eat animals.”

  “Like your little Fifi there?”

  The girl hugged her persnickety dog tight. “Her name is Bonita.”

  “Uh-huh.” Roc wasn’t a biologist or anything, but something with teeth and fur wasn’t for vegetarians. “Still carnivorous.”

  “Whatever.”

  And he shrugged off his own foolishness. Why did he bother trying to make sense of something nonsensical?

  Chapter Seven

  Levi stood in the cleft of darkness, his body relaxing against the slats of the barn wall, his eyelids drooping closed. He’d been awake since four that morning, which was not unusual considering the work he did for Daniel Schmidt, but staying up this late, keeping an eye on things at the barn singing, was. He wished the voices would quiet and the playing would end. It was obvious Hannah was not coming.

  She’d stayed away again. He’d watched and waited and hoped that, despite her words, she would be lured by the fun. Disappointment weighted his chest like a hefty sack of feed had been plopped on it, a sensation he should have been used to.

  The first time he’d really noticed Hannah, she couldn’t have been more than twelve, with those wide brown eyes, humor making them the color of autumn leaves. He knew then he would have done anything for her.

  It was foolishness, for she’d only ever had eyes for Jacob.

  But Levi hadn’t been able to help himself. He had studied the way she carried herself, never hesitating to help someone, never quibbling about obeying her mamm. And when her laugh rang out, sounding like the angels, Levi had thought he’d landed in heaven. Jacob had known how to make her laugh—dangling upside down from a tree branch, balancing a bucket on his head, or whispering something in her ear. But Levi had rarely coaxed a smile from her and now the task seemed impossible.

  But at night he dreamed of Hannah smiling for him. Only him.

  The soft click of a door closing made him tense. His eyes opened and blinked against the darkness, but he remained still, as unmoving as when he and his friends went hunting in the hills for deer. He eyed the barn, the Schmidt front porch, the back door. A slight figure crept among the shadows.

  He straightened. His heart kicked hard against his breastbone. Hannah.

  She was coming. Finally. Hope bloomed inside him. He took one step out of the dark crevice but then laughter erupted behind him from inside the barn.

  Hannah stopped, turned. A slant of moonlight glinted on her pale face. Fear widened her eyes. But why fear?

  When she scampered down the steps, the hem of her skirt snagged on a gardenia bush, which she jerked loose before rushing forward, her footsteps light and quick as she moved away from the barn, and he understood. Her destination was the reason for her fear—fear of discovery. What she didn’t know was that he had followed her before.

  With the moon veiled by thick clouds, darkness made it difficult for him to follow her, but he knew the way. Why did she feel compelled to go? Had it become a ritual with her? Love was a river that had to run its course, shifting and turning, slowing and tapering down to an eventual stream. He hoped there would be a moment, a boulder plunked in the middle of her defenses, a dead end to her resolve, and he would jump in and chart a new course for them, open a new current for a new love to flow open and unrestrained.

  Until then, he would watch and wait.

  Chapter Eight

  Carrying a thirty-pack of Keystone Light, iced as cold as the weather, Roc located Straight Edge Road. It sure wasn’t Bourbon Street, but he remembered his own surprise at what New Orleans offered. What would these boys do if a stream of floats with partiers came dancing down one of their gravel roads, tossing about bright purple and green beaded necklaces and flashing body parts?

  Then again, the teens couldn’t be strangers to the baser needs of life with places nearby like Intercourse. Virginville had to be a main attraction, right? These young Amish men were still men, bursting with hormones, and they couldn’t be naïve about the birds or the bees or any other farm animal for that matter. Why else would they marry so young? Mike had told him they were plagued by ordinary teen problems, just like any other part of America, from drug abuse to the occasional teen pregnancy. Hadn’t the Amish fellow he’d met earlier—Evan…Ethan…Ephraim?—admitted as much?

  Still, how much did they really know of the darker side of evil and depravity? Of that, these healthy, young men were probably completely ignorant. And Roc was glad of it; he’d grown tired of the weary looks in twelve-year-old eyes back in New Orleans, from some kid who’d spent too much time and too many nights on the streets. These young Amish folks had healthy appetites, appetites for discovering life, experiencing the forbidden—appetites that any red-blooded American boy would have.

  Even now, some ate out of red-and-white striped buckets; others scarfed down pizza, while he supplied the perfect beer to wash it all down. They eyed him skeptically when he first walked up, but they gladly accepted the offered beer. Roc handed out the cans, then popped open one for himself, and poured it down his throat, giving the kids time to get used to him being there.

  Less wholesome activities—kids groping in cars and buggies, bottles of whiskey passed around a bonfire, and joints passed from hand to hand—were also prominent. Roc helped himself to a few blood-warming gulps of whiskey since nothing else beat the cold. Nothin’ wrong with that. He doubted these unseasoned kids knew many of the things he’d seen over the course of his life—both in his career as a cop and since.

  The teens stared at him oddly, timidly at first. They didn’t know he might be the only thing standing between them and pure evil.

  He warmed himself at the blazing bonfire the young men had started in the middle of a cleared field. Eventually they began to loosen up; whether it was the beer or simply acceptance of him he wasn’t sure, but their boisterous laughter rang out in the night. Just as Ephraim had told him, they all sported jacked-up buggies with state-of-the-art stereos and high-def speakers. Hard-edged rock music poured out, an electric guitar wailing, the music pulsing and throbbing through him. It was like a 1950s movie, minus Elvis—just kids being kids.

  He’d brought the beer as bribery to barrel through any defenses they might have about strangers, but the young men seemed more open than their elders. The clin
cher was the Mustang. Several of the lanky teens circled the bumper, and Roc felt obliged to leave the warmth of the fire and answer their questions.

  “How many horsepower?”

  “How fast can it go?”

  Speed was the same in any language or culture. Roc lifted the hood and showed them the engine, the muffler, the rims, and tires.

  “It looks like it has aftermarket headers.”

  Roc grinned. They had quick minds and didn’t come close to the dumb “Jethro” he’d thought they might be. They were curious and, even inebriated, somewhat naïve.

  Finally, getting a sense he wasn’t going to get back to the warmth of the fire, he took a different track. “Wanna take a ride?”

  “Really?” One kid’s pupils were already dilated, and his skin flushed. “Ja!”

  “All right then.” Roc shooed them back from the car. “Hop in.”

  “Which one?” one of the boys asked.

  “Me!” The eager kid held out his hand. “Gonna let me drive?”

  “No way. Only I drive this baby.”

  With a no-big-deal shrug, the kid climbed into the passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Adam.”

  “All right, Adam. Buckle up.”

  So began a line of eager young men—Joshua, Luke, Zachariah, James, Caleb—who wanted a taste of life in the fast zone. It was hard to differentiate between the boys at first as they all had similar haircuts: straight across the brow line, then longer and cut straight across the back. Either they all had the same barber or this was another one of their many rules; he’d learned they went by what their leadership, the Ordnung, told them. But he gave them credit: they didn’t scare easily. Instead, they whooped and hollered as Roc pushed the edge. They won his respect as he won their confidence.

  After punching the accelerator and turning deserted roads into a local drag, he U-turned like James Bond on a high-stakes pursuit, then took it slow on the way back to the field, put-putting along Sunflower and Stone Haven Roads, half afraid of running into a buggy in the dark. They steered clear of Slow Gait, where he’d been earlier in the day, before the wedding, although the name sorely tempted him to give it a taste of the Autobahn. The boys showed him Hallelujah Creek, which bisected the community, winding past the local cemetery and an old, broken-down mill.