Where Grace Abides

by BJ Hoff

  Face down, her clothes in disarray, without so much as a wrap or a bonnet to protect her from the dank cold, lay Phoebe Esch, unmoving.

  18

  FINDING PHOEBE

  But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail,

  I fear to call thee mine;

  The springs of comfort seem to fail,

  And all my hopes decline.

  Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?

  Thou art my only trust;

  And still my soul would cleave to thee,

  Though prostrate in the dust.

  ANNE STEELE

  A dozen drums beat an agony in David Sebastian’s head as he stood staring down at Phoebe Esch.

  Finally he knelt beside her. Misery flowed a bitter stream through his soul. Though his eyes were dry, his heart wept, and his spirit cried for mercy as he checked for what he already knew he would find.

  As a doctor he had met with death too many times throughout the years not to recognize it instantly. Even so something deep within him cried out that just this once he might be mistaken.

  Please, Lord.

  When he realized it was not to be, he clenched his fist against the reality of it and forced down the knife of pain that threatened to rend his chest. After a moment he studied the thing on her back for the second time, his blood thundering in his ears as he struggled with a rage forbidden by his newly adopted church.

  Then he rose, whispered a prayer over Phoebe’s lifeless body, and forced himself to return to Susan, still waiting outside.

  The moment Susan saw David step out of the building and look toward her, she knew.

  She put a fist to her mouth, her gaze locked on him, following every step he took. When he reached the buggy, their eyes met, and she choked on the well of tears she’d been struggling to hold back all night.

  Still, perhaps she had misread him…perhaps Phoebe was hurt but yet within reach of help…perhaps she had been wrong about the terrible look on his face.

  But when he climbed heavily into the buggy, set the lantern down, and reached for her, Susan felt her last thread of hope slip away and slowly unravel, releasing her fear and shock and pain into a churning well of despair.

  “I have to go to her.”

  “No, Susan. There’s nothing you can do now.”

  “I need to see her, David!”

  But he held her even more closely. “Please trust me, Susan. It’s not what Phoebe would want for you.”

  Her soft weeping broke his already aching heart. He felt weakness descend upon him, but he held her firmly, resolved that she not see the ugliness inflicted upon her closest friend.

  Finally he felt her go slack in his arms. “Like a sister, she was to me,” Susan murmured. “Who would hurt our gentle Phoebe? She knew nothing but good, nothing but living her faith and following the Lord God.”

  David remained silent, unwilling to tell her that Phoebe’s goodness had almost certainly been her undoing.

  19

  A GRIEF SHARED

  Fret not thyself because of evildoers.

  PSALM 37:1

  Gant was down on one knee, showing Terry Sawyer how to replace a front stretcher on a broken rocking chair.

  Over the past few days, Gant had found the younger man to be just as Gideon predicted: a quick learner and grateful for a job, albeit a temporary one. He was turning out to be a good helper, though no real replacement for Gideon, who had developed into a surprisingly good carpenter in his own right.

  Gant looked up when the bell chimed and Doc Sebastian walked in. One look at his friend’s face told him there was trouble.

  “That’ll do it,” he told Sawyer, as he hauled himself to his feet. “We’ll let it dry and finish up tomorrow. You’d best see to the deliveries now.”

  As soon as Sawyer exited the back of the shop, Gant turned to Doc. “That’s the fellow Gideon may have mentioned to you, the one whose wife is going to have a baby. I was hoping you could pay her a visit.”

  Doc gave a distracted nod but said nothing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Gray-faced, his eyes deeply shadowed, Doc looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. He stood in silence, his hat in hand, his tall, lean form slightly stooped. From exhaustion Gant surmised.

  “Doc?”

  “It’s Phoebe Esch. She’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “She died last night.”

  Doc expelled a long breath, as though the effort of those few words had depleted him.

  Gant stared wordlessly at him, his body going rigid with surprise. “Phoebe? What happened?”

  As he watched, a wintry expression spread over the other’s face. “It seems she was abducted.”

  “Abducted—”

  Again Gant sensed the fatigue wearing on his friend. “Let’s go in the back,” he said. “I’ll get us some water.”

  In the back room, Gant pulled out a chair from behind the table. “Here. Sit down.”

  After pumping them each a cup of water, he sat down across from Doc.

  He waited until the other took a long drink before asking, “What happened?”

  Doc shook his head. “We don’t know. Apparently she left Rachel’s to walk home after a visit. She never got there. We searched for hours, just Rachel, Malachi, and I at first. Finally a little after midnight, we called out the People to help.”

  He sat in silence for another moment, staring at the cup in front of him. Tension built up in Gant, and he caught himself holding his breath, dreading what he would hear next.

  Doc went on, his voice sounding hoarse and unsteady. “We found her, Susan and I, at the old mill house. You know the place?”

  Gant nodded.

  Doc sucked in his breath. “She had been…badly treated. Not beaten, exactly, but knocked about. And dragged, I think. She was wet—it rained most of the night, you know. And she was barefoot, her legs scratched and bruised. Her prayer cap was missing, and so was her coat. There was a bad cut and a lump on the back of her head. Clearly she’d had some rough treatment.”

  “Rough enough to kill her?”

  The thought of someone hurting a woman like Phoebe Esch, mistreating her, bullying her, scalded Gant’s blood. For a moment his mind lost touch with what Doc was saying.

  But the other’s next words called him back. “No, her injuries weren’t that severe. I examined her more thoroughly this morning, and I’m fairly certain she died from a heart attack.”

  He paused. “The people who did this to her probably had no intention of causing her death, but as far as I’m concerned, they murdered her just as surely as if they’d put a gun to her head.”

  A storm blew up in Gant’s mind. Phoebe Esch had always struck him as goodness itself. From the first time they’d met, she had shown him nothing but kindness. With her gentle features and clear, honest gaze, the Amish woman had the kind of saintly presence that inspired a man to speak softly and tread quietly when near her.

  “How could anyone hurt that good woman?” he bit out. “Why would anyone hurt her?”

  Doc rubbed a hand down the side of his face. “There’s more.”

  Gant looked at him.

  “They had pinned a piece of paper with some writing on it to her back.”

  Sickness welled up in Gant. He clenched and unclenched his hands once, then again.

  “‘Slave Lover.’ That’s what it said. Just those two words.”

  Gant’s rage froze to shock. “Somebody knows about her and Malachi helping the runaways.”

  Doc nodded. “Obviously that’s the case.”

  Gant tried to think. “And it’s someone nearby, close enough to have seen something. How else would they know?”

  “Not necessarily. There have been rumors over the past year or so about some among the Amish harboring refugee slaves. No names were ever mentioned, but where did the stories come from in the first place?”

  Gant could make no sense of it. His mind felt fragmented, his thoughts scrambled with questions
and confusion. “Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”

  “It could be anyone,” Doc said. “I’ve already been to the authorities—and not for the first time. They said what they always say; ‘We’ll look into it.’ And I suppose they will. I suppose they’ll give it another cursory investigation, but they won’t spend much time on it.”

  Gant had heard this before. Like Doc he found the lack of action on the part of the law highly frustrating. On the other hand, what exactly could they do? Where would they even start?

  Another thought struck him. “This has to be hard on Rachel and Susan. They were so close with Phoebe.”

  Again Doc gave a weary nod. “They’re having a difficult time of it. But the Amish accept death with a great deal of grace. They see it as a part of life itself, as God’s will. And as you know, their acceptance of His will is total. It’s not that they don’t grieve. But for the most part, it’s a shared grief. The People face any kind of loss as a community, and that somehow makes it a little easier to bear. Susan and Rachel—and Malachi and the boys, of course—are finding it difficult to cope right now, as you can imagine. Especially given the shock—and the cruelty—of Phoebe’s death. But they’ll be all right in time.”

  He stopped, his tone reflective as he added, “Through the years I’ve seen it time and time again. The Amish persevere. They grieve. They accept. They forgive. And they go on. It’s their way.”

  Gant leaned back and studied his friend. “I suppose you understand how that can be possible, your being so much like them. But I confess I don’t understand.”

  “No, I suppose you don’t. But how I wish you could.” Doc regarded him with a strange look, a look that seemed to hold a touch of both sadness and fondness. “Your first thought is most likely vengeance. You’d like to go after the ones who did this and exact justice. Am I right?”

  Gant shrugged.

  “The Lord says vengeance belongs to Him.”

  “I know that,” Gant said, though more than once he had questioned if God never used one of His creation to exact His vengeance.

  Doc was watching him with a thoughtful expression. “I pray for you, you know.”

  Gant made a grumbling sound of some embarrassment, and Doc actually smiled a little—the first time since he’d arrived. “Oh, yes, I do, my Irish friend. I pray that one day you’ll find yourself a community—a family—to be a part of, so you can know the grace of burdens shared instead of always trying to bear them alone.”

  Gant quickly glanced away. Not that he wasn’t grateful for his friend’s concern and his prayers, but the painful truth was that he had already found that community, that family, only to realize that he would always be standing on the outside looking in.

  He swallowed down the lump in his throat to ask Doc about the services for Phoebe Esch. He might not be a part of her family or the Amish community, but he definitely cared enough to share their grief.

  20

  VALLEY OF SHADOWS

  Life with trials hard may press me;

  Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.

  HENRY F. LYTE

  Gant didn’t go to Phoebe Esch’s funeral service, which in the Amish tradition was held at her home on the third day after her death. He chose not to view her body, wanting instead to remember her as the sweet, lively woman who had always been so kind to him.

  He did, however, go to the cemetery, standing just outside the fringes of the crowd. Although Doc and Susan had invited him to be with them—and thereby with Rachel as well—he thought it more respectful to the People that he remain at a distance. To them he was still an auslander, and despite their respectful and even friendly demeanor toward him, they might prefer him to keep his distance on a sad and tragic day such as this.

  Besides, he knew that if he were anywhere near Rachel, the desire to comfort her would be unbearable, for to do so was forbidden.

  So he stood now, scanning the grounds where the most modest of gravestones marked the final resting places of the Riverhaven Amish. As best as he could tell, the stones stated only the deceased’s name and what he took to be a birth date and date of death, carved in the German language of the Plain People. The markers all looked the same to him, and that would be just like the Amish—no one would want to show status or wealth with a more distinctive or elaborate gravestone than that of his neighbors.

  It was an overcast, gloomy day with low-hanging clouds that only minutes before had begun to release a light drizzle. Phoebe’s grave had already been dug and awaited the simple pine coffin in which she would be buried. From the looks of the crowd, it seemed that every Amish person in the community was in attendance. A significant number of “outsiders,” like himself, also stood at a respectful distance.

  Doc had explained to Gant the day before that the graveside service would be brief and extraordinarily quiet, with no singing, although the words to an Amish hymn would be read. The Lord’s Prayer would also be prayed silently, after which the People would disperse, only to gather once again at the Esch farmhouse for the traditional funeral meal.

  Gant’s eyes came to rest on Rachel, who stood just behind Susan, Fannie, and Doc Sebastian. Jealousy stabbed at him, for it seemed that Rachel would not be without comfort during the service after all. Samuel Beiler and three boys Gant assumed to be the Amish deacon’s sons hovered close to her.

  Beiler’s usually stern and somewhat cold countenance today was directed toward Rachel in a look of attentive concern that caused Gant to look away. Inexplicably the boys stood in a stiff and formal manner that very nearly duplicated a military stance—which, given their Amish heritage, would almost certainly scandalize them, were they aware of the resemblance.

  Gant found it curious that the youngest—a lad of perhaps ten years or so—every so often would glance up at his father with a look that seemed to border on anxiety, while the oldest, almost a copy of Beiler himself in size and appearance, wore an expression that could only be described as barely concealed boredom.

  For her part Rachel seemed nearly unaware of the foursome gathered around her. Gant winced as he took in the paleness of her skin, the smudged shadows under her eyes, the taut features that clearly indicated that only by the most deliberate effort was she maintaining her self-control.

  He watched her for another long moment, his heart aching for the sadness engraved upon her features. At last he tore his gaze away lest his attention become too obvious.

  When Gant glanced back toward Rachel only moments later, he was surprised to see the eldest Beiler boy glaring at him with open hostility. He had to wonder what the deacon might have told the lad about the auslander in their midst.

  Or was the boy simply aware that Gant had once been a rival for Rachel’s affection? No doubt he resented any interference with his father’s interests.

  Rachel thought her heart might surely shatter before the graveside service for Phoebe ended. The past days of sorrow had wrung her dry and left her feeling like a fading shadow.

  Her grief had been brutally sharpened by the awareness of the cruel treatment and physical pain that had been inflicted on her dearest friend before her death. Every time she thought of the awful fear and humiliation Phoebe must have suffered that terrible night, she felt overcome with despair and a forbidden rage. She knew her bitterness and anger were as wrong as could be, and she made every attempt to shut them out from her emotions, but then she would remember, and fury would seize her again.

  She wished Samuel and his sons wouldn’t hover about her so. Their nearness just made it that much more difficult to conceal her feelings. No doubt their intentions were the best. Even the boys had shown their concern for her sadness during this difficult time. But she found their nearness and protectiveness strangely suffocating, as well as embarrassing. It wasn’t as if she and Samuel were betrothed or in any way committed to each other.

  Why couldn’t he realize that right now what she needed more than anything else was to be alone to grieve?

  Not
so, she admitted to herself. What she really needed more than anything else was to be with Jeremiah. Just to have him nearby, to know the strength of his presence would have comforted her. Instead, she had seen him standing at the edge of the crowd of mourners, alone because he was prohibited from being with her.

  In this moment the bishop’s order that they remain separate from each other seemed so terribly unfair.

  Her thoughts might be rebellious, but truth was she was too exhausted and weak to exert much self-control. The days since Phoebe’s death had been a nightmare. No matter how hard she tried not to think about what her dearest friend must have endured, she couldn’t stop the terrible images from rushing in on her when she least expected it. Even when she finally dozed off for a blessed few moments of fitful sleep, such awful dreams plagued her that she would awaken in anguish.

  And always there was the question of why. She had the distinct feeling that Mamma and Dr. Sebastian knew more about Phoebe’s death than they were willing to tell, though why that should be she couldn’t think.

  She dared to look at Jeremiah only once more. When she did, the tender depth of concern she encountered in his gaze nearly undid her. She looked quickly away, blinking back the tears she didn’t want him, or anyone else, to see.

  At last the service was at an end. Samuel moved to take her arm as if to help her walk away, but she evaded his touch by stepping forward and gripping her mother’s hand.

  How she would endure the funeral meal that still awaited, she didn’t know. But endure it she must for any chance to comfort Mamma…and out of respect for the precious life now lost to the People but surely received by the Lord, whom dear Phoebe had served all her life.

  21

  THE ROAD NORTH

  The dictates of humanity came in opposition

  To the law of the land

  And we ignored the law.

  LEVI COFFIN

  They had been on the road only a few days, but that was long enough for Asa to observe that, with the exception of one stubborn, steely-eyed youth who had not quite attained manhood, young Gideon had a way with the slaves they were transporting. In spite of the vast differences between their worlds, he seemed to have won their trust early on.