“Mark,” she said through clenched teeth. She ripped fabric off of a nearby bolt, balled it up, and pressed it against his head.
“Ach,” he moaned.
“Fine, then you hold it.” She stood and stalked away from him.
He sat still for a moment, waiting for his vision to clear. Blood trickled through his hair, and pain continued to pummel his brain.
They were in the workshop. The cloth Laura had ripped was from a brand-new bolt that had come in two days ago. He could only imagine how upset Clara would be.
He tried to get up, but his knees buckled.
“You might as well stay down,” Laura said. “The door’s locked, and the window’s apparently nailed shut from the outside. We can’t get out of here.”
“But why?” He winced. “How?”
“You were already here when Mark pushed me inside and locked the door.” Laura sighed. “You all were right about him. I confronted him, asked him for mei money, and before I could do anything, he grabbed me and hauled me out here. I tried to get free, but he was too strong for me.”
Adam groaned as he turned his head to look at her. Her kapp was pulled back from her pale blond hair. Wisps framed her face. “Where’s Emma?”
Laura shrugged. “Still at her haus, I guess.” She stood up and went to the door, limping a little. Yanked on it. Kicked it. Tried to use her elbow to break the glass. She cried out when her arm bounced back like a volleyball hitting a net.
“It’s no use,” Adam said. “We replaced the door last week. It’s solid oak with a dead bolt—” He paused. “Where did Mark get the key?”
Laura gave him a look that made him feel utterly idiotic. “Stole it from Clara, most likely.”
Somehow he had to stand. He had to find Emma. If Mark had her . . .
The thought gave power to his legs. Ignoring the burst of pressure in his head, he made it to his feet. He stumbled to the door, then collapsed against it.
“I’ll try the window again,” Laura said.
“There’s a hammer . . . on the pegboard,” Adam said. His words came out slurred. His head was swimming, and all his strength had gone. He leaned against the door and slid down it to the floor. Lord, help me!
Laura retrieved the hammer and went back to the window. But before she could raise it to break the glass, the window shattered inward.
Her agonized scream made Adam’s blood turn to ice.
“Adam! Adam!” Emma ran into the barn. It was a small building; if he was there, she ought to be able to find him. She went into Dill’s stall. The horse looked fine. None of her other animals were around.
Then Emma saw it: a rusty shovel thrown carelessly against the wall. She picked it up. Something dark and sticky dripped from one side.
Blood.
With a growing sense of dread, Emma dropped the shovel and ran outside. The sound of shattering glass filled the air.
“Adam!”
Just as she started for his house, she saw Peter’s buggy pull into the driveway. At the same moment, the smell of smoke reached her nose.
“Fire!” she yelled. “Grossmammi’s in there!”
But it wasn’t her house on fire. It was the workshop.
Smoke filled the shop. With all his strength Adam crawled toward Laura’s cries. When he reached her he smelled gasoline. Saw the small gas can with a flaming rag tied to it rolling on the hardwood floor. A bolt of yellow fabric caught fire, inches from Laura’s face.
“Laura, grab my hand.” He stretched out to her prone body on the floor.
“I . . . can’t . . . see.” She pushed herself up and tried to stand.
“Nee. Don’t get up. Stay on the ground.”
She lifted her head. Turned her face toward him.
He nearly passed out at the sight.
Clara hadn’t realized Laura was missing until she smelled the smoke. She and Carol came off the porch at a run. She saw Emma come toward Peter’s buggy. Her husband jumped out, shouted something at Emma, who then turned and dashed to Carol.
“Fire! In the workshop!”
Without hesitation, Carol headed for the barn to call the fire department. Emma heaved, trying to catch her breath.
The workshop is on fire?
“Clara, nee!”
Ignoring Emma, Clara ran blindly in the direction of the building. She could see flames licking up the back wall and curling over the roof. All that hard work. All her dreams. Disappearing in smoke.
Peter appeared, carrying two buckets of water from the pump in the barn. He tossed them on the fire, but it had little impact.
Clara sank to her knees. Peter came up beside her and put his arm around her. She wept.
Then she heard something that made her tears vanish.
“Help! Help us!”
“Adam!” Emma ran for the building, but Peter caught her arm and dragged her back.
“You can’t geh in there!”
“Adam’s in there.” She looked around. “Where’s Laura? Dear Lord, she must be in there too!”
“Carol’s calling the fire department right now.”
“They won’t make it in time.” Emma burst into sobs. “They’ll die before the firemen get here!”
From her room, Leona watched helplessly as Mark threw the flaming gas can into the shop window and then ran like a coward into the woods. She heard glass breaking, saw the smoke rising and the flames growing. Heard the bloodcurdling cries of a girl, the weakened voice of Adam Otto. Watched Peter holding Emma back.
It couldn’t end like this. Evil would not triumph. Leona closed her eyes, wept, and prayed harder than she had ever prayed before.
Clara looked on in horror as her husband ran toward the burning building. Smoke snaked through the spaces between the wood planks and underneath the door. Adam’s and Laura’s voices went silent.
“Peter! Nee!”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Peter kicked at the door. After four futile attempts, he ran and grabbed an axe from the woodpile in the backyard. He hacked at the door until it splintered, then kicked it one more time. It fell open, and Peter disappeared inside the smoke-filled building.
She couldn’t lose Peter, not now. I don’t deserve him, Lord. But he doesn’t deserve to die. Save him, Jesus. Please, save them all.
Leona continued to pray as Peter ran into the workshop. She held her breath, waiting for him, and for Adam and Laura to come out. After what seemed like an eternity, Peter came out, carrying Laura. He set her gently on the ground. Clara went to her, and although Leona couldn’t see what upset her so much, she couldn’t miss the horrified look on her granddaughter’s face.
Smoke billowed through the broken front door. The fire truck finally arrived. Two men in full gear jumped out of the truck just as Peter dragged Adam by his arms from the workshop. Adam didn’t move. Peter collapsed beside him.
Leona continued to pray as two of the firefighters went immediately to attend to Laura and to Adam. And as she watched, the workshop her husband had built alone by hand, the place where he had worked for nearly fifty years, crashed in upon itself in a blaze of flame.
CHAPTER 28
Adam fought for breath, but all he inhaled was smoke. His eyes refused to open. He tried to reach for Laura again. Felt nothing but unbearable heat.
Emma appeared in his mind. Beautiful Emma. He had never told her how he felt. Never made amends with his father. Never found out what troubled his mother. His return to Middlefield had been a failure. His life, an even bigger one.
No, he hadn’t failed. Not completely. He had made peace with God. These past weeks he’d prayed. Asked for the forgiveness he desperately needed. Put Emma and her family before himself. Tried to protect her, because he loved her.
Now he was going to die. And much to his surprise, he wasn’t afraid.
He did, however, have regrets. Wished he had done things differently. Wished he had been braver, wiser, more honest about his feelings. If he could do it all again, there were many things he would change. But
he wasn’t going to get that chance. God would just have to understand.
He hoped Emma would too.
Suddenly he felt cool air on his hot skin. Maybe he had already died.
“Adam?”
Now he was certain he was dead. It was the voice of an angel. Sounding like Emma, sounding very far away. He tried to open his eyes again. Felt drops of water on his cheek. Did it rain in heaven?
“Adam . . .”
The voice was softer now. Like a loving whisper in his ear. He took a breath. Suddenly his body shook with spasms as he gulped for air.
“Miss, you’ll have to move,” a man’s voice said.
“I won’t leave him. Not until I know he’s all right.”
“We have to get oxygen to him.”
The spasms stopped. Someone tried to put a mask over his face. Adam managed to shove it out of the way. He opened his eyes. Saw his Emma kneeling over him, her eyes filled with tears. And love.
He managed to reach up and touch her soft cheek. “I’m okay, Emma. Everything is okay.”
She smiled, and he knew the words were true. Emma disappeared as the paramedics put the mask over his face, and he closed his eyes, finally able to breathe.
“Peter, you shouldn’t be doing that.” Clara went to her husband and helped him put on his shirt. He’d burned his right forearm, yet refused to go to the hospital. Grossmammi, of course, had a salve she said would take care of the burn and had applied it to Peter’s arm soon after the fire.
“You had a restless night.” Clara gently guided Peter’s arm through the sleeve of his shirt and pulled it over his head. She looked at the white bandage on his arm. “Are you still in a lot of pain?”
He shook his head. “Not so much. Just hard not to sleep in mei own bed.” He looked at Clara. “Our bed.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she smiled a little. She and Peter had spent the night in her parents’ old bedroom, while Laura and Adam were taken to the hospital. The smile disappeared, however, at the realization of everything she could have lost yesterday.
“Clara?” Peter lifted her chin with his hand. “I know you’re upset about the shop. We can rebuild it. Order new fabric, yarn. Whatever you need.”
She shook her head. “Nee. We can’t.”
He frowned. “Don’t lose faith, lieb. I’ll make sure your dream will happen.”
Clara gazed into her husband’s eyes. She lifted a hand to his face and ran her fingers through his beard. He still smelled of smoke and fire. And courage. He was the bravest man she’d ever known. “Remember what you told me when I pushed for the fabric shop? How it would succeed if it was God’s will?”
He nodded. “I was thinking more about profits. Not mei awful cousin setting it ablaze.”
“But that might be His answer. I pushed for this shop. I wanted it. I didn’t pray for God’s guidance.” She looked down at her lap. “I didn’t ask for His help. I became angry with everyone who stood in my way. Emma. You.”
Peter grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It doesn’t mean it wasn’t a gut idea.”
“Maybe God has a better one.” As she looked at him, an ache rose up in her chest, and she gripped his hand hard. “It took almost losing you to make me start listening to Him.”
He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her forehead. “This can be a new start for us, Clara. It might be God’s will for us to rebuild the shop. Or He might have another plan, like you said.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, we need to stand together, ya?”
“Ya,” she whispered. “I love you, Peter.”
He kissed her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin. Then he pulled away. “We should finish getting dressed. As much as I like Leona and Emma’s hospitality, I’ll be glad to get home. To our kinner. To our life together again.”
“And what of Mark?” Fear seized her just thinking about him, about how things could have turned out even worse if Emma had listened to her.
Peter didn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t know. They’ll have to find him first. The police said they would keep us posted, but he might just disappear.”
Clara leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t understand why he did this.”
“I don’t either,” Peter said. “Some things we may never understand.”
Mark King bent down and tied the laces of his tennis shoes. He stood and glanced around the bus station in Ashtabula. Pulled a Cleveland Indians baseball cap low over his newly shorn hair. Shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and slouched into his sweatshirt, like he’d seen so many Yankee men his age do.
He went to the ticket window and purchased a one-way ticket to New York City. The bus wouldn’t depart for another fifteen minutes. He put on a pair of sunglasses and tucked himself into the corner of the station. There were several Amish here, but he was confident none of them could recognize him.
Almost confident. He’d learned he couldn’t take anything for granted in Middlefield.
Ten minutes dragged by as if it were ten hours. Finally the bus pulled up. Mark threw a duffel bag over his hunched shoulder and climbed on the bus. Through tinted shades he looked for a seat. Then saw the perfect one.
“Mind if I sit here?”
The young Amish woman glanced up at him for a moment. Her gaze dropped to her lap.
Mark smiled. Shy. She wouldn’t say yes. But her eyes didn’t say no.
“Thanks.” He plopped down in the seat and slouched down. Took off his glasses. Unlike Emma Shetler, this girl was pretty. And hopefully unlike Laura Stutzman, she would be as dumb as a post.
“Matt Kingston.” He held his hand out to the girl.
Her cheeks reddened. She looked at his hand. Slipped her tiny one tentatively into his. “Naomi Kline.”
He grinned, holding her hand longer than a polite Amish boy would, long enough to capture her attention without offending her. Yes, this one would occupy his time until he found some other relative to take him in.
“Nice to meet you, Naomi Kline,” he said.
Leona knocked on the hospital room door. When she didn’t hear an answer, she wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t expected one. She slowly opened the door. Her gaze drifted to the young woman lying in the hospital bed. The sheet pulled up to her chest. The bandages wrapped around her hands and face.
Her heart filled with compassion for Laura Stutzman. Of all of them, she had suffered the most. And from Clara’s and Emma’s accounts, had deserved it the least. The window had shattered directly into her face. Shards of glass had embedded in her forehead, cheeks, and chin. Thank the Lord, only a few slivers had gone into her eyes. She wouldn’t lose her eyesight, but she would be in great pain until the lacerations healed.
Leona opened the door wider. Laura didn’t move, despite the noisy door hinge. Emma had tried to visit earlier. Laura had refused to acknowledge her. She might refuse Leona as well. But that wouldn’t keep Leona from trying.
Her shoes squeaked and her cane tapped against the shiny floor. Laura didn’t have a roommate. Leona was grateful. They could have their conversation in private.
“Laura?”
The young woman turned her head away from Leona.
Leona continued to walk toward her. “I won’t ask how you feel. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through.”
No answer.
“The nurse said they contacted your parents in Tennessee. Have you heard from them?”
After a long pause, Laura said, “Nee.”
Leona moved closer to the chair in the corner, near the end of the bed. “Do you mind if I sit down? Can’t stand too long on these old legs of mine.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’m sure your parents will be here soon. Then they can take you home.”
For the first time Laura turned in Leona’s direction. Her eyes were covered and her face was almost entirely bandaged. Although Leona couldn’t see the stitches, she knew from Clara how extensive the damage had b
een. Her granddaughter had described the girl’s face as a spiderweb of cuts and burns, like an image in a shattered mirror. The child’s trauma wasn’t nearly over, not by a long sight.
“I don’t think mei parents will come.” Given her circumstances, Laura’s voice sounded surprisingly strong and stable. “I disobeyed them. I shamed them. I foolishly trusted a mann who stole their life savings.” She turned away again. “I’m sure they believe I deserve this.”
“Nee. Nee!” Leona banged her cane on the floor, so hard it made Laura flinch. “You did not deserve this. You did nix. You were taken advantage of by a cruel and merciless mann. That’s not your fault.”
Laura lifted her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.” She lifted her chin in Leona’s direction. “You’re Emma’s grossmammi, ya? Why are you here?”
“Because I want to be. I’ve been praying for you.”
“Thanks.”
Leona ignored the bitter tone. “And to let you know you’ll always have a place to stay in Middlefield.” She saw Laura bite her bottom lip. “We are not like Mark King.”
“I know.” Her voice softened, grew thick. “It hurts,” she whispered.
Leona stood up and went to her. She brushed her hand over the girl’s pale blond hair, much the way her own mother had many, many years ago. “I know, kinn. But your injuries will heal.”
“Nee. They won’t.”
Leona didn’t answer right away. In a sense, the girl was right. The stitches and burns would leave scars, scars she would carry forever. But far worse were the wounds inside her heart and soul.
“You may not believe this now, Laura. Or even in a few months or years. But God will heal you. Completely.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t believe you.” Then the girl turned her face to the wall and said no more.
CHAPTER 29
The next day Adam returned home. The doctors told him he was lucky: he had only one burned hand, ten stitches to the side of his head, and a pretty severe concussion. But Adam knew it wasn’t luck. It was a second chance, at everything.
The Middlefield Family Collection Page 21