Plain Refuge

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Her scan had been wary, and something about him triggered her fear. Was it because, like most Amish, she was unwilling to report the assault and thought he might press her to do so?

  The driver unloaded the last piece of luggage from under the bus and got back on board. With a deep sigh, the bus started down the street. None of the buggy horses so much as flapped an ear. It took something much stranger than a noisy bus to bother them.

  Daniel ambled forward, the picture of congeniality. After all, as county sheriff, he was an elected official. He greeted folks he knew and nodded at strangers while assessing them, until he reached the Grabers and a cluster of Yoders, all enveloping the two newcomers.

  Looking him in the eye, Samuel Graber stepped away from the group.

  Protecting the woman and child by distracting me? Daniel wondered.

  “Sheriff.” Samuel’s greeting was pleasant, but he didn’t smile. The Amish trusted Daniel as a person, but they were wary of everything he represented. Behind Samuel, his wife was hugging the woman from the bus, while the blond boy gripped her skirts. His summer straw hat fell to the sidewalk. One of the many relatives picked it up.

  “Family?” Daniel asked easily.

  “Ja.” Samuel cleared his throat as he made a mental switch to English from the Deitsch language the Amish used among themselves. “Rebecca is the daughter of one of my sisters. Here for a visit.”

  His gaze resting on the slim back clothed in a dark blue dress and apron, he said, “You know I’m only here to help.”

  “You saw she has been injured.”

  “I did.”

  “She was hit by a car and thrown over the hood of another. A miracle it is she was not hurt worse.”

  Daniel nodded. “I hope her little boy didn’t see it happen. That would have been frightening.”

  “Ja, but I don’t think he did. She will tell us more once we get her home.” Without another word, Samuel returned to the group, his broad frame hiding the newcomers.

  The message was not subtle: this is none of your business. But Daniel thought Samuel was wrong. The sight of a police uniform made many of the Amish wary, and accidents happened every day. But an accident did not leave a woman afraid of who might be waiting for her when she stepped off a bus.

  Chances were that she was escaping trouble of one kind or another. In his experience, trouble had a way of following people, and the Amish were defenseless.

  He often stopped to say hello to folks in his small county. He’d give the Grabers a day or two and then drive out to their farm, just to say he hoped their niece was recovering and enjoying her visit.

  He was opening the door to the café, where he’d been headed for lunch, when he glanced back to catch Rebecca watching him, her expression now unreadable. With her high forehead, fine bones and sharp chin, she’d be a pretty woman once the swelling subsided. Between the bonnet and the prayer kapp, he couldn’t tell what color hair she had, but she shared her son’s blue eyes.

  He smiled. She looked startled and quickly climbed into one of the buggies. Her onkel Samuel closed the door, and she was lost from Daniel’s view. Thoughtful, he went into the café, taking a seat at the window.

  As he watched the buggies drive away, he wondered how long the Grabers’ guest intended to stay.

  * * *

  THE DRONE OF the metal wheels on the paved road, the sway of the buggy and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves would quickly make her drowsy, Rebecca feared. At least she didn’t have to strain to understand Deitsch, often called Pennsylvania Dutch, which was actually a Germanic dialect. Aenti Emma and the others had spoken English from the moment she stepped off the bus. Or maybe they were doing so for Matthew’s sake. Rebecca suspected the language would come back to her quickly. She had been reasonably fluent once upon a time—as a child, she had spent her summers with her Amish grandparents. She had loved those visits until she became a snotty thirteen-year-old with the same preoccupations as her other San Francisco friends. Boys, the right clothes, boys, how unfair their parents were, boys. The plain life had suddenly held no appeal. Her mother’s disappointment in her wasn’t enough to combat peer pressure.

  That, she thought now, was when her foolishness had begun.

  “Your aenti Mary gave you clothes, I see,” Aenti Emma said approvingly. Her round face was as cheerful as always, but she had become considerably stouter since Rebecca had last seen her.

  “Yes.” Rebecca plucked at the fabric of her apron. They had gone first to her aenti Mary and onkel Abe’s farm to confuse anyone trying to find them. “It feels strange, I have to admit.” She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Matthew doesn’t know what to make of the suspenders.”

  Sarah, the younger cousin she scarcely remembered, chuckled. “They suit him fine! We are so pleased to meet Matthew at last.”

  Matthew buried his face against Rebecca. His hat fell off once again. The two other women laughed. Onkel Samuel, in the driver’s seat, either couldn’t hear or was ignoring the womenfolk.

  Sarah said, “He will be less shy once he sees the horses and cows and chickens, ain’t so?”

  Matthew sneaked a peek Sarah’s way.

  Rebecca would have smiled if it hadn’t hurt. “He was fascinated by Onkel Abe’s horse. I don’t think he’s ever been close enough to pet one before. He went to a birthday party this spring that included pony rides, but that’s it.”

  Aenti Emma beamed at Matthew. “He will like our horses.”

  Rebecca let out a breath that seemed to drain her, mostly in a good way. She wouldn’t be able to stay here forever, but for now she and Matthew were safe. She couldn’t imagine Tim or Josh would think to look for her among the Amish, or succeed if they tried. She’d told Tim that her mother had grown up Amish, had mentioned summers with her grandparents, but would he remember? Would he know Mamm’s maiden name? Or that those summers had been spent in Missouri? He’d rolled his eyes at the idea she had been happy even temporarily in what he considered a backward, restricted life, and she doubted he’d really listened when she talked about family. Because of his lack of interest, she hadn’t mentioned her Amish roots in a very long time. And where the Amish were concerned, most people thought Pennsylvania or Ohio. An investigator could find her mother’s maiden name on her marriage certificate, but no one from her family had attended the wedding or signed as a witness.

  Graber wasn’t quite as common a surname as some among the Amish, but there were Grabers in many settlements, so tracing her wouldn’t be easy. In many ways, the Amish lived off the grid. They weren’t in any phone directory unless their business was listed. They didn’t need driver’s licenses, and they didn’t contribute to federal social security or draw from it. Living on a cash basis, none of the Amish Grabers would be found in a credit-agency search, either. They did have Social Security numbers, or at least many of them did, because they paid federal income taxes and state and local taxes. Still, would a private investigator have access to income-tax records?

  She had done her best to complicate any pursuit by initially flying to Chicago, then backtracking by bus to Des Moines, where she and Matthew had switched to various local buses, paying cash. They finally wended their way to Kalona, Iowa, where more of Rebecca’s relatives lived. Having received a note from Aenti Emma, Aenti Mary and Onkel Abe Yoder had kept her arrival and departure as quiet as possible. Their bishop and some members of their church district knew that their niece and her child had fled something bad and needed help. If an outsider came asking questions, she had confidence they’d pretend ignorance. Staying reserved was their way even when they had nothing to hide.

  The unquestioning generosity still shook her. Even though Mamm had jumped the fence—left her faith—to marry Dad, the family considered Rebecca and now her son their own. She’d never even met the Iowa relatives, and yet they’d welcomed her with open arms.


  Once she and Matthew were appropriately garbed, another cousin had driven them several towns away, where they caught yet another bus. They had meandered south into Missouri, changing buses frequently. By this time, Rebecca’s entire body ached until she could hardly pick out the new pains from the places that already hurt when they set out from San Francisco. But at last they were here.

  Aenti Emma leaned forward and patted Rebecca’s knee with her work-worn hand. “Ach, here we are, talking and talking, when I can see you close to collapsing! Lunch and some sleep is what you need.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she admitted. A glance told her Matthew was nodding off already.

  She was grateful when her aunt and cousin lapsed into silence and let her do the same.

  She found herself thinking about the cop who had talked to Onkel Samuel just before they left town. A sudden certainty that someone was watching her had felt like icy fingertips brushing her nape. She’d known she should keep her head down so as not to draw attention, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking around. If Tim was already here, waiting for her... But then she’d seen the uniformed police officer, instead, as broad-shouldered and strong as the farmers and woodworkers she knew among the Amish, men who labored hard. His face was too hard to be handsome, too inexpressive, his eyes too steely. His cold scrutiny reminded her of the way Detective Estevez had looked at her. She guessed this police officer to be older than she was, perhaps in his midthirties. His hair was a sun-streaked maple brown that probably darkened in the cold Missouri winters.

  Rebecca looked down to see that her hands were clenched together hard enough to turn the tips of her fingers white. With an effort, she loosened her grip. Yes, that man made her anxious. Had he only been interested in her because he’d noticed the bruises? But why had he been leaning against the building watching people get off the bus in the first place? Did he check out new arrivals every time the bus stopped in Hadburg? Was that one of his duties? In this rural county, she wouldn’t have thought the local police force would have the personnel to be so vigilant—unless they were watching for someone in particular. Could Detective Estevez have figured out where she’d gone already?

  A bump in her pulse rate left her light-headed. She was being stupid. Estevez hadn’t bothered her since their one interview. Tim shouldn’t notice her disappearance until tomorrow, after he arrived to pick up Matthew for his scheduled visit. And violating the custody agreement wasn’t an offense that would draw police attention, certainly not at first. Would Tim even dare file a missing-person’s report on her or accuse her of custodial interference?

  No, the last thing he wanted was to attract more attention from the police. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t hire a private investigator to find her, if he didn’t set out to do so himself. She wondered what he’d tell his father. Tim wouldn’t want the man to know his grandson was out of his reach.

  And Josh. What would Tim tell the partner who’d been pressuring him? Would he try to protect her, as she was protecting him?

  She feared not, given the results after she had gone to him about the shooting and the phone threat.

  Aenti Emma swayed gently with the motion of the carriage, her gaze resting on Rebecca and Matthew.

  “I saw Onkel Samuel talking to that police officer,” Rebecca blurted, not sounding as casual as she wanted. “Does he know him?”

  “We all know Sheriff Byler. His family moved here when he was, oh, sixteen or so, you see.” An odd hint of discomfiture in her voice caught Rebecca’s attention, but Aenti Emma continued, “He went away and nobody knew for a long time what he was up to, but he became a police officer, of all things! And in the big city.” She shook her head, scandalized by the mere idea. Aenti Emma had probably never been as far as St. Joseph, let alone Kansas City. Why would a local boy want to leave placid Henness County for a place that was all concrete and towers of glass and steel and noise? Sirens and car horns and people shouting. So much noise.

  “What city?” Rebecca asked, as if it made any difference.

  “I heard he went to St. Louis. I guess he didn’t like it, because he came back three years ago and got the Englisch to vote for him to be sheriff. That Gerald Warren, who was sheriff before, nobody liked him. He was lazy, and he looked down on the people.”

  The Leit, she meant. The Amish. Lazy Sheriff Warren wouldn’t have been alone. Even tourists equated plain with simpleminded and gullible. Rebecca’s mother used to talk about how much resentment was caused by the slow, horse-drawn buggies with metal wheels that wore ruts in roads, even though the Amish paid road taxes like everyone else.

  “So you like this Sheriff Byler?”

  “He’s a good man,” Aenti Emma said, although a hint of ambivalence remained. “He listens and understands why we won’t go to the law most of the time.”

  Rebecca nodded her understanding. Would that “good man” poke his nose in her problems? Perhaps she should take advantage of the opportunity if he did. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if he knew to watch for anyone asking about her. Even if she didn’t tell him about the unholy bargain she’d made with Tim, if the sheriff thought she was running from her ex-husband because he was stalking her, he might form another line of protection.

  But of course that would mean telling him she wasn’t Amish. Almost instantly she shook her head. What if he went looking for police records concerning the alleged abuse? Or even searched online for information about Tim? It might be the modern equivalent of yelling, Here she is. No, it would be better to stay away from Sheriff Byler, however good his intentions were.

  She had to grab the seat as the buggy turned sharply. The wheels made a crunching sound that told her they were no longer on a paved road. Peering out the small window, she saw fields of corn growing high in the August heat. Oh—and sunflowers, an entire field of them! A minute later, the crops were replaced in her view by grazing cattle. A sign for a produce stand caught her eye. This was all so familiar. Comforted, she sat back and gently stroked her now-sleeping son’s hair.

  Finally they turned into a narrow lane. Corn grew on one side, while to the other was pasture. Enormous, dappled silver horses grazed. Rebecca smiled. Onkel Samuel still bred and raised Percherons, as his father had before him. As a child, she’d been awed by the gentle giants with velvety lips and stiff whiskers and big brown eyes. They had seemed magical to her. She hoped they would to Matthew, too. He didn’t understand why they were making this trip or who these people were, but she had confidence he’d enjoy himself as much here as she had as a girl.

  Another bonus of staying here—she didn’t have to worry about Matthew getting to a phone and calling his father. She had left her cell phone behind for fear it could be used to trace them, and Sarah was the last of Aenti Emma and Onkel Samuel’s children left at home. Some Amish teenagers did have cell phones during their running-around time, but Sarah looked to be past that. Rebecca had no intention of telling Matthew about the phone in the shanty that used to be halfway between the Graber farm and the neighbors.

  The buggy swayed to a stop and Onkel Samuel got down and came around to let them out. She carried her sleeping son in her arms, though he began to awaken with the movement.

  The large farmhouse was just as she remembered it, painted a crisp white, the wide porch still holding a swing and several comfortable chairs. A small wing attached to one side of the house, the grossdawdi haus where her grandparents now lived, had its own porch. Two dogs raced toward them from the huge barn.

  “Down, down,” Onkel Samuel said, intercepting them. The dogs spun around in excitement, barking.

  Matthew tightened his grip on her neck and lifted his feet out of reach. “Mom! Do they bite?”

  Onkel Samuel set a gentle hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “No, they will be your best friends before you know it. Especially if you sneak them some treats.”

&nb
sp; His wife turned a look on him. “Don’t suggest he waste my good cooking on dogs!”

  He only laughed, his face creasing above the distinctive Amish beard that reached his chest. It was the clean-shaven upper lip that made it different from facial hair among the Englisch. “Boys will be boys,” he declared. “I will bring your bags once I stable Molly,” he added, and got back into the buggy. The dogs hesitated, then bolted after him as he drove toward the barn.

  “It’s so good to be here.” Rebecca’s eyes burned. She tried to smile. “Thank you for having us.”

  “You’re family,” Aenti Emma said simply.

  Sarah hugged her.

  “We can’t know God’s purpose,” Aenti Emma murmured, “but the bad things that happened brought you and Matthew to us, which is reason to rejoice. Grossmammi especially has worried about you. Letters aren’t the same.”

  “No. I wish...” Rebecca didn’t finish the thought, and saw in the two women’s kind faces that she didn’t need to.

  Just then the front door in the grossdawdi haus opened and her grandmother hurried across the lawn to envelop her in more hugs. Her grandfather followed more slowly, every breath a rasp. In the eighteen years since she’d seen them, they’d aged more than she had anticipated. Both had white hair now and looked frail. Guilt stabbed Rebecca. Why hadn’t she managed to visit? Brought Matthew sooner for them to meet?

  But her grandmother showed no hint of accusation. It would not be her way. “How often I have prayed to have you restored to us!” Her wide smile included Matthew. “And now to be able to get to know your son, as well! Such a blessing.”

  The entire family ushered her and Matthew into the house. In no time, Sarah had poured glasses of lemonade while Rebecca’s aunt and grandmother set out home-baked bread, different cheeses and cold cuts, as well as a special peanut butter sweetened with marshmallow cream. There were at least two kinds of cookies and fudge besides. Matthew’s eyes grew wide, while Rebecca knew this was a modest meal by her aunt’s standards. There would be a much greater variety at dinner.