Jacob shook his head.
Aaron mentally calculated how long it would have taken the man to reach town from his farm and how long before that Louisa would have left, hoping to make it in time to play her part in the pageant.
“We have to find her,” Abigail said, and Aaron realized she was speaking directly to him.
“I’ll go,” he said, and when he saw several others prepared to join him, he held up his hands to stop them. “Get your families safely home. She cannot have gotten far from the farm—perhaps she fell or—”
“I’ll come with you,” Abigail announced as she handed her uncle the Bible from which she’d read. “Now, listen to me, children. We will find Louisa, and you must pray for her safety. Happy Christmas to you all,” she added as she touched each child’s face and blew out their candle. One by one the children nodded as their parents gathered coats and mittens and began dressing the children for the trek home. Thankfully, most of the families had relatives living in town, and those that didn’t were soon invited to take shelter for the night by shopkeepers and others.
“Jacob Koop,” Abigail said softly, turning her attention to the distraught father. “We will find Louisa.”
Once again rage filled the man with a strength that would have frightened most women. He stood and glared at Abigail. “This is your fault—all your fault, Abigail Yoder. And know now that if harm has come to my child, you will pay dearly.” He spat the words at her, and Aaron watched as Abigail accepted them.
“Believe me when I tell you that if something dire has befallen Louisa, no one could possibly punish me more than I will punish myself.” She slipped past her uncle and Jacob and hurried to the back of the room, where she collected her cloak and bonnet and shawl. “We should get started,” she said to Aaron as she tied her shawl over her bonnet to keep it in place and protect her face from the wind and blowing snow. “It is already dark.”
To Aaron’s astonishment, neither her aunt nor her uncle made a move to stop her from this folly. “Do something,” he hissed at Beulah Yoder, who ignored his plea as she took down a lantern from a hook and handed it to Abigail.
“Your uncle and I will wait here with Jacob. Go on now, and may God be with you and that dear child.” She walked her niece to the door then looked back at Aaron. “Time is of the essence, Aaron Miller,” she said impatiently.
Aaron collected his outer garments and followed Abigail out into the night. Now he was charged not only with finding Jacob’s daughter but also with keeping Abigail safe. He hurried to catch up with her, hoping that she might listen to reason.
“Wait,” he shouted, holding his bent arm over his face to shield his eyes from the icy sting of the driven snow. She marched doggedly on. Was she ignoring him? Or perhaps—giving her the benefit of the doubt—she could not hear him calling.
♦ ♦ ♦
Abigail heard Aaron call out to her, but nothing and no one would stop her from finding Louisa. Her guilt at encouraging the girl in spite of Jacob Koop’s objections was prideful and wrong. She should have respected his views whether or not she agreed with them. That was the problem with her—had always been her problem. She had this habit of questioning her elders and their ways. She was quite sure this was the root cause behind her mother wanting her to come to Wisconsin. In effect, her mother had hoped her brother—the bishop—would have more success in tempering Abigail’s penchant for wanting to try new things than she and Abigail’s father had managed.
Abigail whispered a prayer as she fought her way through the drifts and blowing snow. She assumed Aaron was coming after her but gave that little thought until she felt his large hand close around her upper arm like a vise, pulling her to a halt.
“Go back to the school,” he yelled as the wind howled through the bare trees. “I’ll find her.”
“No.” The cold filled her lungs, making it difficult to breathe much less hold a conversation. When he continued to hold her arm, she looked up at him. “We are wasting time,” she shouted, even as she tugged to free herself and move on. To her surprise he did not release her, but neither did he try and stop her from going on the search. Instead, he loosened his hold enough to guide her over a patch of black ice that was covered over with blowing snow.
“This way.” He pointed toward a lane that was barely distinguishable between the piles of snow to either side. “It’s the shortest distance to the Koop farm.”
Abigail followed the trail he broke through the snow, but within minutes her skirts were soaked and heavy, and she knew she was slowing him down. When she saw a dilapidated shed just off the beaten path, she pointed. He nodded, and the two of them headed for the outbuilding.
Aaron pulled back the door and waited for her to enter before following and pulling the door closed again. Inside there were only slits of waning daylight finding their way through the cracks in the walls and the hole in the ceiling, but at least they could talk without shouting and they were out of the wind and stinging snow.
“Your dress is soaked,” he said.
“Yes. It hinders my ability to keep up, so why don’t you go ahead?”
“And you will return to the school to wait?”
“You are certain that this is the way that Louisa would come from her father’s farm?”
“It is.”
Abigail was trying hard to think like the girl would. “She knew she was late, so she would have taken this way. Perhaps the trail was blocked—a fallen tree or some other obstacle—and she had to leave the trail and could not find her way back.” Her teeth chattered as she tried to work through the details, and she had wrapped her arms around her upper body to try and stop the shivering. “If I wait here, perhaps Louisa will find her way here.”
“You cannot stay here without a fire to warm yourself. Look at you. You’re shaking with cold.”
Before she could protest, he removed his heavy coat and wrapped her in its warmth. Next he began gathering wood and kindling for a fire. Blessedly, there was a shallow pit in the earthen floor. Using a stick and the heel of his boot, Aaron scraped at the dirt to make the hole deeper then piled the kindling and wood in the pit. But Abigail could see he was at a loss for how to start the fire. She rustled through the layers of her outer garments until she found her apron pocket and produced three wooden matches.
“I brought them from home to light the candles at the school,” she explained when he looked at her as if she had just performed a miracle. “Hopefully, they are dry enough.”
He struck the first match, and it flamed to life. For the first time since she’d met him, Aaron Miller favored her with a genuine smile. And that smile, she decided, had been well worth the wait. He was a handsome man in any case, but when he smiled, his entire face changed. His expression softened and his eyes sparkled. Or perhaps that was the light of the flame reflected in his eyes. What she knew for certain was that they were standing close to each other, and they were staring at each other, and her heart was hammering—and she was no longer cold.
As the match burned down almost to his fingertips, he bent and lit the kindling—dry leaves he’d collected from under the eaves of the shed’s roof. He cupped his hands around his mouth to form a sort of bellows as he blew the smoldering leaves and dried pine branches to life. “There,” he said as he stood. “You’ll be all right here as long as you keep the fire going.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
She removed his coat from her shoulders and handed it to him. He hesitated. “Take it,” she urged. “I have the fire.”
“Do not try and go out searching on your own,” he ordered, his tone more the one he had taken with her from that first day.
“I won’t stay here indefinitely,” she replied, jutting out her chin to show him he could not order her around.
To her shock he cupped her chin in his hand. “None of this is your fault, Abigail, and it will not help for you to be lost in the storm as well.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her skin and then released her. When he pus
hed the door open, the wind filled the shed, threatening to extinguish the fire. But within seconds, Aaron had closed the door. He was gone.
“Please lead him to her,” Abigail prayed as she settled herself on the floor near the fire and spread out the skirt of her dress around her to allow it to dry.
♦ ♦ ♦
The storm continued to worsen. The snow flew through the air, blinding Aaron as he made his way forward. He tried calling the girl’s name but soon realized the wind was simply throwing his words back in his face. Normally, he would have searched with a torch in hand to light his way, but no torch could have survived this storm. He pressed on, pausing now and then to place markers—a stack of fallen tree branches or large rocks—so that he could find his way back.
At least he had persuaded Abigail to stay behind by the fire. As he trudged on, he thought about the whiff of her that had clung to his coat when she returned it. He thought about the way she had looked at him when the match flared to life. He thought about the way his heart had pounded, echoing in his temples, his throat, his chest. He thought about the way she had challenged him and he had touched her face, cradling that impudent chin in his palm. He thought what it might be like to kiss her and knew the way his breathing was becoming more difficult had more to do with her than with the battle he was waging against the blizzard.
“Louisa Koop,” he bellowed, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. A child was missing—had been missing now for hours. He should have joined those who had demanded that the pageant be canceled. He should have insisted that the children all remain safely in their homes with their parents. He should not have been blinded by his attraction to the bishop’s niece. Yet he had to admit that in spite of their objections to the changes Abigail had made in the traditional pageant, in the end it had brought everyone together in a way that Aaron had not seen before. The atmosphere in the school packed with people had been one of community—people coming together. If this child were lost, all of that would be lost as well.
As he slogged on, he turned his thoughts to prayer that he would find the girl soon—and that she would be alive.
♦ ♦ ♦
There was no way for Abigail to know how long she sat by the fire—long enough that her dress was nearly dry and she had piled on more wood to keep the flame going. Through the hole in the roof, she could see the sky as black as the ink her older students used for their lessons. She pictured the way Louisa sat bent over her work, determined to get everything perfect. She thought of how the girl had at first resisted efforts to have her take on the larger role in the pageant and how, when she received the support of Rebecca Janzen, she had blossomed into a gifted reader. She closed her eyes and saw Louisa’s shy smile when Abigail had brought her a dress to wear for the pageant. Was she wearing that dress now? Most likely.
Abigail began to pace the confines of the shed, pausing now and again to listen because outside something had changed. The wind had died, and when she looked up, she saw a star twinkling down at her—a sign that the storm was waning. Would it be foolhardy for her to venture out? Louisa might be nearby, and if so, Aaron might have passed by her without knowing. Surely it would be wise for her to check the immediate area.
She banked the fire, hoping it would stay lit, for she realized Aaron had kept the remaining two matches. After wrapping her shawl around her head and shoulders, she pushed against the door. It did not budge. She tried again, putting her entire weight into the action. It moved a couple of inches—enough for her to realize that the snow had piled up outside the door. Given the time of night and falling temperatures, that snow was probably more like ice. She grabbed a small log and wedged it between the door and the frame. Using it as a lever, she pried the door open enough that she was able to squeeze through. Once outside she used the log to push and scrape as much snow as possible away from the door. Then to protect the fire, she jammed the log into the snow and up against the door to hold it shut.
Breathless from the exertion and cold, she took a moment to get her bearings. The wind whistled through the trees surrounding the shed, and snow whirled around her, stinging her cheeks.
“Louisa!” She might as well have whispered the missing girl’s name for all the good shouting it did. “Oh Louisa, where are you?” she sighed as she tried to think what to do.
To one side of the shed was a thick forest of evergreens—their boughs so heavy with snow that they were bent almost to the ground. Still, she saw that they had formed a kind of barrier to the drifting snow, and she could just make out a path that was deep with snow but that looked passable. She headed for it, praying every step of the way that this path would lead her to Louisa. Clutching her skirts tight with one hand, she slowly made her way deeper into the woods. The laden trees dropped snowballs on her head and shoulders, and she had not gotten very far when she was almost covered by an avalanche of snow falling from a cluster of trees. In that instant, she imagined Louisa experiencing something similar. But Louisa was small and thin, and the outer garments she wore to school were no match for the weight of that cascade of snow.
She pushed herself forward, trying to see the way ahead and always watching for places where the snow might have plunged onto the path without warning. Once again she was soaked and chilled to the bone, but she would not give up the search. With nothing to keep her going but her thoughts and her determination to find Louisa, she reviewed her actions over the last weeks. Had she unwittingly contributed to this tragedy? Had there been no good in what she had done? Had her zeal for showing the children a new way of presenting the pageant indeed been born of her own vanity? And if they did not find the girl in time—what then?
Either way, she decided she would resign her position and return to New York. Even if her insistence on change had come from innocent and virtuous motives, she had failed to consider the consequences. She had certainly not allowed herself to see what consequences might result from encouraging Louisa. No, she had wronged these children and their parents, caused them unnecessary worry and possibly—in the case of Jacob Koop—heartbreak. She would beg forgiveness and then leave them in peace.
Knowing that Louisa had now been missing for hours, she pressed on. Her eyes burned from the strain of trying to see in the dark, but then she realized that seeing was becoming easier. She looked up and saw a break in the clouds as they moved like a river across a nearly full moon. In seconds the light was once again extinguished by clouds, but a few minutes later, it reappeared and she thanked God for calming the storm. Then she saw a dark shape some yards ahead—another outbuilding. Please let her have taken cover there, she prayed as she stumbled along, dragging each foot and her sopping wet skirt from the deep snow in order to take the next step.
This shed had no door, and wide gaps had opened between the boards, giving the wind and snow access to the interior. She stopped to catch her breath before entering. The wind had calmed, and all she could hear around her was her own labored breathing—and someone singing.
♦ ♦ ♦
Aaron blew on his fingers through the wool of his gloves—anything to feel a wisp of warmth. He had followed the path all the way back to the Koop farm. The house was dark, and he could hear the livestock moving around in the barn. He took a chance and entered the back door of the house.
“Louisa?”
The silence was as oppressive as the cold. There was no fire banked in the stove in the kitchen—a room that even in the dark he could see was pristine. Jacob’s wife had died several years earlier. Louisa was his only child, and Aaron assumed she had taken over the keeping of the house in her late mother’s stead. He moved on to the front of the small house, checking the single bedroom and the front sitting room. In the bedroom, he saw men’s clothing on the hooks—Jacob’s. He wondered where the girl slept and had her clothes.
“Louisa Koop,” he shouted. When there was no answer, he knew she was not there. On his way out he spotted a quilt neatly folded at the foot of the single bed and took it. Whe
n he found the girl, he was certain she would need all the warmth he could offer. As an afterthought he retraced his steps and took a woolen shirt and a jacket from the hooks in Jacob’s room and left the house.
Outside he paused. The sky was beginning to clear some, and the wind had died down to a breeze light enough to flurry the snow but not so strong as to throw it in his face. With the wind now at his back, the return trek would be easier. He considered his next move. Go back the way he had come, or try a different route? In the end he chose the latter, striding off into the deep woods that lay to the south of the property. Unlike the trail between the Koop farm and the village, where the path was beaten down, this way was deep with snow, making his journey slow and tedious, but Aaron used the time to pray silently—pray for Louisa to be found and pray that Abigail was all right.
It was ridiculous how often his thoughts turned to Abigail. What did he know of her other than that she was Oscar Yoder’s niece. He had great respect for the Yoders, but Abigail was a stranger to their community—to their ways. Look how she had already upset people with her newfangled ideas. Still, she sometimes looked at him in a way that made his breath quicken. But he hardly had to remind himself that she was strong-willed, and in a woman of their faith, that could be a dangerous thing.
On the other hand, whenever he had touched her, he could not deny the effect even a simple brush of her hand had on him. In those few instances, his heartbeat had an unfamiliar drumming pattern, and he had felt heat rise to his face. More often than not, he had found some excuse to look away. But while it was simple enough to avoid being in Abigail’s physical presence, it seemed impossible to avoid the image and thought of her invading his thoughts and dreams. Lately he had found himself wondering if she might make a proper wife for him and mother for his children—their children.
That idea stopped him in his tracks. It must be the cold. It must be his fear that Louisa would not be found. He needed to clear his head. He pressed on, calling out Louisa’s name from time to time now that the wind had lessened.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 55