by BJ Hoff
Mac stood totally upright, his ears pricked, his tail fanned, and the noise in his throat, though low, still a threatening grumble. Gideon reached behind him and caught hold of the dog’s collar and held on. “Stay, Mac. Stay,” he warned.
As they drew to a halt, the slave, Micah, turned toward them, his eyes sparking with recognition. Though the boy still seemed to pulse with anger and resentment, Gideon thought he also detected a glint of fear.
“I’ve seen these two before,” Asa said in a low whisper. “Low as they come.”
Both men on horseback were filthy. One was burly with a matted beard and hands the size of dinner plates. He carried a shotgun, held at the ready. The other, holding up a lantern, had a narrow-faced, weasel look about him. Long, greasy gray hair fell ragged and uncombed around his face, spilling out from a broad-brimmed hat covered with dust. His expression was one of raw meanness. Gideon knew the noticeable absence of a gun didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t have one.
Something in the eyes of these men signaled a warning that spelled danger.
There had been no time to react. Now, facing these two, Asa felt a numbing chill of certainty that they meant nothing but trouble for himself and Gideon. He had narrowly escaped them once before, three years ago down around Uhrichsville. He and the captain had been on horseback, with a runaway and his son riding double right behind them. The captain had spotted them just in time, and they’d managed to pull off the road and into the woods until they passed by.
These were the same two slave hunters, he was sure of it. The captain had called them “blackbirders.” They would capture anyone with black skin—freed men with papers like himself, women and children, young or old. The law meant absolutely nothing to them. They wouldn’t think twice of picking off a man who had been free his entire life and hauling him down to the nearest auction block.
They were vile and contemptible men, men to avoid at all costs.
And now they were here, in front of them.
Somehow, some way, he had to keep the boy beside him from doing something foolish and getting hurt—and at the same time, help the hotheaded Micah get away from them.
But how?
“Well now, boys,” said the thin man with the long gray hair. “Where might the two of you be headed?”
Though it galled Asa all through, he kept his head down in a deferential pose as he replied. “Just on our way back home, suh, to where we lives.”
“And where would home be?”
“Just on the other side of Uhrichsville, suh.”
“What’s your name?” The man jabbed a finger in Gideon’s direction.
“Me?”
As if young Gideon had instantly caught on to what Asa was up to—what they had to do—must do—he adopted the guise of a not-overly-bright youth. Even his voice changed. “Why, I’m Gideon Kanagy. And this here,” he said pointing to Asa, “is my daddy’s overseer. We’re just on our way back from delivering some produce from our harvest up to Canton.”
The stocky man with the shotgun sneered. “You ever heard tell of a slave bein’ an overseer, Herb?”
“Never did, Rusty.”
“Oh, Asa ain’t no slave, mister,” Gideon hurried to say. “He’s a free man.”
“A free man, eh?” the one called Rusty said. “You got papers, Mr. Free Man?”
“Papers—oh, yes, suh. I surely do.”
“Well, get down off that wagon and show ’em to me!”
The thickset man darted a look at his partner—Herb.
Asa stalled for a moment, pretending to search his pockets, though he already knew they had no real interest in his papers.
“I said down! Both of you!”
The bearded man leveled the shotgun at Asa, who grinned and waved his papers over his head as he clambered down out of the wagon.
Keeping the man with the gun in view out of the corner of his eye, Gideon took his time climbing down from the wagon. The instant he touched ground, he pretended to stumble and go to his knees, groping the ground with both hands as if to steady himself.
He came up with a large, jagged rock in each hand. Whipping around toward the man with the gun, he hurled the biggest one straight for the man’s head, immediately following it with a throw directly in front of the horse just to spook him.
The man bellowed and grabbed his head with his free hand. The horse reared and threw him to the ground, hard enough to knock the gun free. Then the animal stormed away, pounding the road as he made his escape.
Asa dived out of the gun’s range, scooping up a rock of his own and hurling it toward the same man, now on the ground.
In that instant Gideon saw Asa charge forward and grab the shotgun, sling it up under his arm, and target the man on the ground with it.
Meanwhile the gray-haired “Herb” slid down from his horse, righted himself, and turned toward Gideon, who this time launched a rock at him. He missed, but in that instant Mac leaped from the wagon and charged the man, snarling and barking like he’d gone mad. With one punishing lunge of his solidly muscled body, he hit the man full-force, knocking him to the ground. The man hit the road with a thud and lay groaning.
Asa shot a look at them and shouted, “Hold, Mac! Hold!”
Planting both meaty front paws on his quarry’s sunken chest, Mac held.
The thin man’s horse, however, clearly spooked by the chaos, shrieked and reared. Gideon took one look at the horse’s wild eyes and knew it would bolt any second—taking Micah, still shackled and tied behind the animal, with it. The boy would be dragged, resulting in serious injury or even death.
He had to stop that horse from running.
Acting purely on impulse, he planted himself in the road, directly in the path of the horse but with his back to it. With one arm at his side and the other hand behind him, he began to take small, slow steps forward, all the while speaking softly and kindly, much as he might have to a child.
When he realized the horse had quieted and was cautiously following him, he pulled a deep breath and slowed his steps even more, then stopped. Taking a deep breath, he offered his hand, palm down, to the animal and let it sniff him. Only then did he carefully grasp the horse’s halter.
Waiting until he trusted the animal to stand still, he freed Micah from the rope that held him captive to the horse, then went to the wagon for more rope so he could tether the horse to the trunk of a tree.
Asa still had the shotgun leveled at the man on the ground—who was dazed but conscious—so Gideon went first to tie the fellow up. Then he freed Mac from his hold on “Herb” and tied his hands and feet behind him.
Asa went from one to the other in search of the key to Micah’s chains. When neither would say a word, he set Mac on first one, then the other. It took only a moment with Mac baring his teeth in the thin man’s face to convince him to talk.
Asa unlocked Micah’s shackles with such a smooth, deft hand that Gideon figured he must have had some experience in that area before. A sudden image of Asa, himself in shackles, flashed through his mind but was quickly gone.
Gideon simply could not imagine Asa—surely one of the most noble and most gentle men he had ever known—shackled and chained. The very thought was somehow obscene.
Micah’s voice yanked him back to his surroundings. “Mr. Gideon?”
He turned to face him. “Micah?”
“I just—I’ll be on my way now. But I wanted to say thank you. I should have—” he stopped. Although the boy seemed to be near to strangling on the words he spoke, the look in his eyes was one Gideon had not seen there before. He was searching Gideon’s gaze as if in…what? Apology?
For some reason Gideon couldn’t quite stop a smile. Somehow he thought he knew what the boy was trying to say and even understood why it was hard for him to say it. “I know.” He paused. “You can go back with us, if you want.”
Micah shook his head. “There’s nowhere safe back there—not for me.”
Asa, who had gone to the wagon and
returned, closed the distance between them. “Unfortunately you’re right, young man. Your safest road is to the North. Here’s a stop you might make.” He handed Micah a piece of paper. “You can wait there for the next conductor to come through, so you don’t have to go alone. You tell him you’re the friend of a friend. That’s all he’ll need to hear. You can trust this man.”
After giving him the piece of paper, Asa then handed over a blanket and a shirt from his own satchel. “And next time—don’t be so impatient.”
“No, I won’t be. Thank you. Thank you both.”
After Micah took off at a run through the woods, Asa clapped a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “Ready to go home now?”
Gideon gestured toward the two men, trussed on the ground, spewing oaths and glaring at him and Asa while Mac remained poised between them, as if standing guard. “What do we do about them?” he said.
Asa turned to look. “What do you think we should do?” Gideon took one more look before turning to Asa. “Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.”
“I agree. Someone will come along and find them. Eventually.”
Gideon went to the horse he’d tied and set it free, calling after it, “You deserve better than those two. Go find your friend!”
As they headed toward the wagon, Asa said, “You still want to ride one of the horses from the wagon so you can make better time?”
Gideon thought about it. “I don’t think so. If you say we’ll be back in time for the wedding, that’s good enough for me. I’d rather not make the trip alone.”
Asa smiled and kept on walking, with Mac trotting on ahead.
34
WHERE GRACE ABIDES
From the fullness of his grace we have all received
one blessing after another.
John 1:16 (NIV)
Soon after David Sebastian made his vows to the Amish church and his conversion was complete, the banns were published for his and Susan’s wedding.
Busy as he was, the days usually passed quickly for him. Lately, however, they seemed to drag—no doubt because he was so eager to see the end of the single life.
In less than two weeks, he would once again be a married man, and it couldn’t happen soon enough to suit him! Even so, he had a nagging suspicion that the days leading up to the wedding were going to virtually crawl.
He had his patients, his work, and his friends, of course. In truth he was usually too busy to feel lonely. But mornings always seemed too quiet and nights too long without a special someone to share them with.
That someone was, of course, Susan.
He couldn’t remember the first time he finally realized that he was in love with Amos Kanagy’s pretty widow. Perhaps he had subconsciously denied it for a long time before forcing himself to face the truth. Even then, the situation had seemed impossible, what with Susan being Amish. Though he’d been a physician—and a friend—to the Plain People of Riverhaven for years, at the time he’d still been an “outsider.” Because the Amish did not marry outside their church, any chance of a future with Susan had seemed altogether hopeless.
And yet just see what God had done. His own heart, long sympathetic to and in agreement with the ways of the Amish, had moved toward becoming one of them in every way. He had made that life-changing move, and now he and Susan were to be married. To find love the second time and at his age—what an incredible gift. What a blessing. What grace!
On this typical November evening, cold and raw with the threat of rain before morning, he was just about to lock up his office for the day and fix himself some supper. One thing he would most definitely not miss was his own cooking. Out of necessity, he’d learned to fend for himself, but he was a poor excuse of a cook, and he knew it. He also disliked eating alone, though there again he’d grown used to it.
Susan, on the other hand, was a wonderful cook. He liked to tease her that her cooking was what convinced him to marry her. In truth, just to sit at a table with her, watch her every movement, and spend time with her—well, every moment with her was a gift to him, and that was no exaggeration. He might be middle-aged, but he was crazy in love and didn’t care who knew it.
He sighed, wishing he could be with her right now.
Well, why couldn’t he?
They were engaged, after all, and about to be wed. Even the young courting couples among the Amish were allowed to be alone together at this point in their relationship, so why shouldn’t he and Susan?
Never mind supper. He’d much rather have some time with his bride-to-be than eat a cold meal. He would freshen up a bit and take a ride up the road.
He was about to extinguish the lamp when someone knocked on the door. He let out a long breath. Usually he didn’t mind a late patient or two in the evening, but now that he’d set his heart on seeing Susan, he was impatient to leave.
But it wasn’t his way to ignore a patient, so he crossed to the door and opened it. He was surprised to find Noah Graber, the bishop’s son, standing there, his buggy parked at the end of the walkway.
“Noah? What’s wrong?”
“Could I talk to you a minute, Doc?”
“Of course. Come in.”
Hat in hand, the bishop’s son stood in the middle of David’s office, looking ill at ease. David had treated Noah’s wife and some of his children, but never Noah himself, a splendid example of a brawny, healthy Amish farmer. Most likely he was feeling entirely out of his element.
“Dat asked me to come speak to you, Doc. He’s not feeling so gut today.”
Apparently Noah Graber didn’t remember that David had had to learn the Amish Deitsch before converting because he started right in speaking English.
“Do you want me to stop at the house this evening?” David asked.
“Nee. I think he’s all right—just under the weather. Thing is, though, Dat wanted to let you know that he’s sent for another bishop—Bishop Schrock—to take his place at your wedding. He’s not sure he’ll be up to it himself.”
David studied the younger man. “What’s going on, Noah?”
A dejected expression crossed the other’s face. “Dat isn’t himself anymore, Doc. He don’t feel good most of the time, and he don’t always think so good either. It’s like he gets mixed up a lot. Why, sometimes he thinks it’s night when it’s first thing in the morning. He said just last night that he can’t keep up with things anymore, said maybe he might not be able to be bishop much longer.”
A bolt of surprise shot through David. “Your father said that?”
Noah nodded. “He did. Truth is, Doc, we’re pretty worried about him.” He paused. “You were at the house a couple of weeks back. How did you find him then?”
David chose his words carefully. “Much as you’ve described. Your father isn’t well physically—his diabetes is partly to blame, and he is getting up in years. I’d say there’s been a decline in his mental faculties as well. I was actually going to speak with you about my concerns, but I’m glad your father brought it up first. I believe it’s a good sign that he recognizes he has a problem. That should make it easier for me to talk with him about some things.”
Noah’s face clouded even more. “He’s not going to die, is he, Doc?”
“I’m going to do everything I can to help him,” David said, “and there are some things you and your wife can do to help too. I’ll stop by and talk with you about this one day soon. In the meantime try to see that he follows the diet I gave him a few months ago. That’s important. And keep a close eye on him. I know it’s difficult, busy as you are, but maybe your wife and some of the children can help. I don’t know that it’s a good idea for him to go too far away from home if he’s by himself.”
Noah nodded. “I appreciate the way you take care of him, Doc. And I’m real sorry he won’t be able to preach at your wedding. But he knows this Bishop Schrock, and he says he’s sure he’ll come down and do a nice job for you.”
“Don’t you be worrying about the wedding, Noah. Everything will wo
rk out. You just see to your father.”
“Appreciate it, Doc.”
David watched him until he pulled away in his buggy, then turned to go back inside. He wasted no time in leaving for Susan’s. Now that Isaac Graber had spoken out about it himself, he felt more free to tell her about the bishop’s condition—in confidence, of course.
Besides, since this affected their wedding, she had a right to know that a different bishop would be replacing him. Right now he mustn’t allow himself to think too much about the implications this might have for the People. Later there would be time enough to consider things in more depth.
For now it was important to keep his thoughts focused on Susan and their upcoming marriage. He couldn’t allow his concern for all the problems that seemed to be coming at the People these days to take anything away from Susan and the happiness they had found in each other.
Even so, there was no denying the sadness he felt for the ailing Isaac Graber, a man he had known and treated for several years. He had not always agreed with the bishop, but he had always respected him.
That was the way of things in life, though, wasn’t it? Certainly as a physician he’d seen it often enough: God gave health and happiness, but beyond human understanding was the reality that He also allowed pain and sorrow.
David had come to believe that the soundest way to live a life pleasing to the Lord and at the same time live a life of serenity and peace was to abide in a state of thankfulness for all things.
Granted that was easier said than done. But one thing he had learned and tried to live by: God never runs out of grace. In every season of life, in every heart that knows Him, loves Him, and seeks to serve Him, God’s grace abides.
35
THINGS BEST LEFT UNSPOKEN
Trust is a tenuous thread,
But one on which respect and love can safely cling.
ANONYMOUS
The knock on the door startled Susan. She never used to be nervous after dark, but these days she was ever so cautious. Moreover, she knew for sure and for certain that she was not the only one among the People who no longer felt safe, even in her own home.