The Rescued

by Marta Perry

  But it didn’t matter any longer what he’d thought. Judith was gone. Joseph was gone. And he was responsible.

  He spun and ran for a horse. Onkel Simon, a few steps behind him, grasped the halter when he brought Blackie out. Isaac readied the harness for the wagon. He’d have to take it. Judith had the buggy.

  It was a matter of minutes for them to back the horse between the shafts and then, working in unison, harness him. When Isaac clambered up to the seat, Onkel Simon put one hand on the lines. “Just tell me. Where are you going?”

  Isaac tried to make the tight muscles in his throat work. “Joseph has run away. I have to get Judith.”

  Onkel Simon nodded, face solemn. He stepped back. “Da Herr sei mit du,” he murmured.

  The Lord be with you. He was going to need it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Lancaster County, October 1953

  Mattie had been in vehicles before, when going to a wedding or a funeral at a distance, and that time when the ambulance had come for Ben. But the police car wasn’t like any of the other cars. The backseat was tiny and cramped, with little room for their feet. The doors didn’t have handles, and there was a heavy screen between them and the front seat.

  She tried not to shiver outwardly, but inside she knew she was quaking with fear. She didn’t dare to look back at the others as the vehicle drove off, because that would surely make her cry.

  As they pulled onto the main road, Bishop Thomas spoke quietly in dialect. “Have courage, Mattie. The Lord is with you and will be your protection.”

  The patrolman shot a glance toward them. “Chief, shouldn’t they have to speak English? We don’t know what they’re saying when they talk that way.”

  The bishop spoke before the chief could answer. “I am accustomed to saying prayers in my own language. If you insist, I will pray in Englisch instead for our sister Mattie to be delivered from those who persecute her.”

  Silence, lasting for a long moment.

  The chief cleared his throat. “You go ahead and pray however you want to, Bishop Thomas. We don’t have a problem with it.” The glance he directed at the patrolman was irate.

  “Thank you.” The bishop’s tone was tranquil, as if he hadn’t just accused them of being persecutors. He turned to Mattie and switched back to Pennsylvania Dutch. “Don’t be frightened. No one will harm you.”

  Mattie looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “When I talked to Rachel about it, I said we should remember Paul and Silas in prison. She said she would pray for me to be delivered like them.”

  He nodded. “Rachel is growing into a young woman of strong faith.”

  “But I’m afraid I’m not. I don’t think I would be able to praise God in an Englisch jail. I would be too frightened.”

  “We don’t any of us know what we can do until we face a situation,” he said. “We must trust that God will give you strength for what lies ahead.”

  Mattie nodded, hoping her faith and strength would be enough.

  “Komm. We’ll pray.”

  He launched into a familiar prayer in German, one from Christenpflicht, the prayer book found in every Amish home. The words were familiar and comforting, words she’d used and heard hundreds and hundreds of times, and Mattie began to say them silently in her heart, trying to make them her own petition to the Lord Jesus Christ.

  The ride to the jail wasn’t long enough, it seemed to her. Too soon they were on the outskirts of town, and then the vehicle pulled up in front of an imposing stone building. Mattie’s heart seemed to jump into her throat at the sight of it, and for an instant her head spun.

  The bishop’s hand closed on her arm. “Have faith, Mattie. Only hold to your faith.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to cling to the words.

  They could not get out until the patrolman opened the door for them. The bishop slid out first and then held out his hand to help her. As she stood, he nodded toward a car that had pulled up behind them—Pastor Colby, with Daad Jonah and Adam. A surge of warmth went through her at the sight, and then the chief had taken her arm and was escorting her toward the entrance.

  A small group of people had been gathered around the door, but now they turned and rushed toward her. Several people held notebooks, and one had a camera. They began pelting her with questions, not waiting for one another, their voices turning into a jumble of noise that she was glad not to understand.

  The camera appeared in front of her, and the man snapped several pictures, it seemed. She couldn’t get away from the camera, not with the chief clutching her arm. She could only duck her head and pray the camera hadn’t caught her face.

  At a gesture from the chief, the patrolman began pushing people back away from them, and with the chief on one side and Bishop Thomas on the other, they propelled her the rest of the way to the door and through it. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off the relentless noise.

  They were in a large lobby, she realized, much like the one at the hospital. Directly in front of them was a high counter with a uniformed policeman sitting behind it.

  “I’m afraid you can’t come any farther with us, Bishop.” Chief Ferguson sounded firm but regretful, as well. Mattie realized that he had welcomed the bishop’s presence. Perhaps he had been afraid she would break down if the bishop hadn’t been with her.

  “I will wait here for the others, then.” He nodded toward a bench against the wall and then looked steadily into her eyes. “Have courage, Mattie. The Lord is with you.”

  She nodded, determined not to make this worse by bursting into tears. Then she turned, moving with the chief through a doorway into the labyrinth beyond the lobby, into the unknown.

  Apparently being brought in by the police involved a lot of paperwork. She was asked a number of questions as an officer painstakingly filled out a form with her answers. When she’d finished, another officer appeared, carrying something that looked like a small toolbox. He opened it and put a lined card on the desk in front of her. She looked up at him questioningly.

  “Fingerprints,” he said loudly, as if she were hard of hearing. “I have to take your fingerprints.” He reached for her hand, and she drew back instinctively.

  “Enough,” the chief said, his voice rasping. “No fingerprints, no photographs.”

  The man put on a mulish expression. “Regulations say—”

  “Forget it,” Chief Ferguson snapped, seeming at the end of his patience. “I’ve been pushed around by politicians for weeks now, and enough is enough. We don’t need to trouble Mrs. Lapp with fingerprints and photos. Time enough for that once the hearing is over, if necessary.”

  Apparently the anger in his voice was convincing. The man who had been hovering over her slipped back, closing his little box.

  “This way,” the chief said, gesturing to her. He guided her through several more doors and hallways. When he stopped, it was in front of a small cell, empty except for a narrow cot. From somewhere beyond another door, she could hear clattering noises, the sound of women’s voices, a snatch of a song and a voice raised in anger.

  “This is what’s called a holding cell.” He opened the door and gestured.

  Mattie walked inside, went to the cot, and sat, folding her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. He was going to leave her here. She might never have seen an actual cell before, but she had seen the drawings in the Martyrs Mirror, and she knew what they looked like. At least in this one there were no chains, and a bed instead of a heap of straw.

  The chief stood in front of her, frowning and ill at ease, as if he wished he were somewhere else. “You’re safe here. I have to lock the door, but nobody can get in, and no one will bother you, understand?”

  She nodded, clenching her hands together even tighter.

  “I’ll come back and get you when it’s time to go to the hearing. I promise I’ll come myself.�
�� He hesitated, started to turn away, and then turned back. “Look, it’s not my place to advise you, but if you don’t back down when you go in front of the magistrate, he’ll sentence you to jail. You know that, right?”

  “Ja . . . yes. You explained.” Mattie used her words sparingly, afraid of losing control if she spoke too much.

  “Then you’ll have to be fingerprinted and photographed. You’ll be searched. And I’ll have to put you in with the general female population.” He jerked a nod toward the door beyond which the voices came. “I’ll be honest with you—I don’t want to do it, but I won’t have a choice.”

  Was he asking her forgiveness? She wasn’t sure.

  “I understand.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Just give way. Nobody expects you to carry the burden of this fight. Let the men do it. Their shoulders are broad enough. Just pay the fine and go home to your children. Obey the law until it’s changed.”

  She didn’t speak. What was there to say? The Leit hadn’t sought out this battle.

  Finally he shrugged. He went out, and the cell door clanged shut behind him. Shut and locked, leaving her alone.

  Mattie looked around at the bare stained walls, at the metal bars, at a high window in the opposite wall covered with a heavy grate. A shudder went through her.

  She tried to project her thoughts back the way they’d come, back to the lobby where by this time Daad Jonah and Adam would be waiting with the bishop. She tried to feel their presence. Tried to feel the Lord’s presence. But she couldn’t. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale, she was alone.

  • • •

  One thing Judith could say for Barbie—she was never at a loss for words. She’d seemed to realize from the moment of her arrival at the farm-stay that Judith was in no mood to talk, and she had easily filled in the gap with her chatter while they worked together around the house, making the beds and putting out fresh towels. Now they washed dishes together, and she was still talking.

  “I told Rebecca that I think retired couples make the easiest guests,” she was saying now, referring to the current visitors. “Look at these two couples. They came down to breakfast right on time, and now they’ve taken off on their own to go sightseeing. All I had to do was give them a map and a few suggestions, and they were off for the day.”

  Some response seemed needed. Judith rubbed a plate dry with unnecessary vigor. “They seem very nice. Polite and friendly.”

  She hadn’t had much to do with them, since, as Barbie said, they were willing to entertain themselves. And Barbie’s bubbling personality made folks turn to her naturally, rather than to Judith.

  “They’ll be back later this afternoon,” Barbie continued, up to her elbows in hot, sudsy water. “The men want to try their hand at milking. Rebecca’s brother will take care of that, so we don’t have to deal with it. He’s gotten wonderful gut at explaining farmwork to the Englisch.”

  Judith discovered that if she focused the upper level of her thoughts on Barbie’s chatter, she could ignore the fear and pain that lurked beneath. “Are we supposed to do something with the wives then?”

  “If they seem at loose ends. Rebecca says when they start wandering around the house like they’re looking for something, it’s time to suggest an idea.” Barbie put another plate in the drainer and attacked a baking pan. “Rebecca is much better than she thinks she is at taking care of the guests. She was tongue-tied that first weekend, she says.”

  Ignoring the temptation to comment that Barbie didn’t suffer from that, Judith considered the bigger problem. “What are we supposed to do with the women?”

  “We could take them over to the workshop and show them Matt’s furniture.” Rebecca’s intended ran a handcrafted furniture business in what had been intended for a stable. “We might even sell something.”

  Judith managed a noncommittal sound at the idea. Was she even going to get through the day? And what was she going to do when it was over and time to go home? That seemed even worse.

  Judith had never felt so tired and discouraged in her life. She gripped the counter edge, willing herself not to give in to the weakness.

  “That’s that,” Barbie said, taking the towel from Judith’s hand. “Now you’re going to sit down and have a mug of tea. The water’s already hot, and there’s nothing else needs doing right at the moment.”

  While she was talking, Barbie was bringing the water back to a boil and pouring it into a mug.

  “Now, just sit.” She gently pushed Judith into a chair and plunked the mug in front of her. “I’m going to the phone shanty to check for messages.” She hesitated, frowning at Judith. “When I get back, you can tell me about whatever is wrong, if you want. If not . . . well, that’s okay, too. I might not be as wise as Rebecca or Grossmammi, but I can listen.”

  Before Judith could find something to say, her cousin had whisked out the door.

  So, she hadn’t been doing as well as she’d thought in hiding her feelings. That wasn’t so surprising, since she felt as if she’d been battered with a board. Propping her elbows on the table, Judith buried her face in her hands.

  Where did she go from here? Somehow, she had to find the strength she needed so desperately.

  One thing was certain—she couldn’t keep trying to be a buffer between Joseph and Isaac. She’d spent what seemed the past year trying, and she had failed. The two of them were further apart than ever, and it seemed she could do nothing about it.

  Isaac would have to find his own way to deal with his brother, just as Joseph must. That disastrous scene this morning had convinced her more than any words of advice possibly could. She loved them both so dearly, but she couldn’t change them. The weight of it seemed to crush her heart.

  Judith blotted away a tear and took a gulp of the hot tea to ease her tight throat. There. Crying would not help. Nor would feeling sorry for herself.

  The letters she’d been reading slid into her thoughts. Mattie must have had the same feelings she did. Mattie had struggled with grief and denial and the sense that she had been unfairly burdened. But she’d found the courage to do what was right when her tribulation came. Surely Judith’s problems were small compared to Mattie’s.

  A buggy coming down the lane jerked her to attention. Quickly she patted away any trace of tears and rose, moving to the door.

  It wasn’t a buggy. It was a wagon, with Isaac driving. Her heart turned over. Something was wrong—Isaac would never have come unless someone needed her. The kinder—

  By the time she reached the porch, Isaac was jumping down. She flew to him, her heart pounding.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Is one of the kinder hurt?”

  The face he turned to her was so grave that it terrified her. “The boys are fine. It’s Joseph. Judith, is Joseph here?”

  “Here?” She stared at him blankly. “Of course he’s not. Why would he come here?”

  “I thought he would come to you.” He stared at the house, as if expecting Joseph to appear.

  “Isaac, you’re not making sense. What has happened?”

  He turned his face away from her. He wasn’t going to answer. He was going to shut her out, as he did so often.

  The muscles in Isaac’s neck stood out like cords. His jaw clenched, but then finally he spoke. “After you left, we kept arguing. We both said things to each other, hateful things. My little brother has run away, and it’s my fault.”

  Her heart seemed to jump against her ribs, but she had to stay calm. If steady, responsible Isaac was falling apart, it was her job to strengthen and support him.

  She struggled to speak gently. “What makes you think Joseph ran away? Surely he wouldn’t be so foolish . . .”

  That thought died. For all his size, in some ways Joseph was still just a boy.

  “He said he would leave. That I wouldn’t have to think about him any longer
.” Isaac rubbed his palms on his face. “I thought he was going to Onkel Simon’s. I thought he’d be all right. But he didn’t go to Simon, and he didn’t come to you. He’s run away.”

  “He’ll come back—” she began, but Isaac shook his head.

  “You didn’t see his face. He’s gone. My parents entrusted him to my care, and I’ve let them down.” His voice shook with emotion. “I can’t even think where he might be. Would he go to Fred Yoder? I could go to the mill, ask Fred to help.”

  It was a measure of how desperate Isaac was that he would consider asking Fred for help, Judith knew. “It’s possible, I guess, but I don’t think so. He’d be bound to realize that Fred wouldn’t hide him from you.”

  “Then where?”

  It hit her, quite suddenly. That day in the garden, talking to Joseph, hearing about his secret hiding place up in the woods. She’d nearly forgotten it with everything that had happened since then.

  She started to speak and then closed her lips. If she told Isaac, if he went there and found Joseph, Joseph would know she’d revealed his secret. Would Isaac handle it wrong and make matters worse? If she went herself—

  The truth hit Judith like a blow. She was doing it again. She was trying to intervene, to come between them and settle their struggles for them. Hadn’t she just told herself how wrong that was?

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm the thudding of her heart. The choice was clear, wasn’t it? She had to trust that this would turn out the way God intended if only she did what was right.

  “I know where he might be.” Her voice sounded strange to her. “He told me once he has a place where he goes when he needs to be alone and quiet. It’s up in the woods beyond the pastures.”

  Isaac grabbed her hands as if he’d pull the words out of her. “Where? Where exactly is it?”

  “He said he built a little lean-to out where the log drag crosses the old railroad bed. Do you know it?”