Rachel's Rescue

by Serena B. Miller

Rachel was stunned. The bishop was Reuben Miller. In addition to being a trustee of the fund, he also happened to be Naomi’s father…and Ezra’s grandfather.

  “But the money is there!” Naomi said. “What do you mean, you can’t afford to do this, Daett?”

  “If we give it to the kidnappers, word will get out,” Reuben said. “If other Englisch people find out how easily we gave in to the kidnapper’s demands, it would be open season on all of our Amish children. None of them would ever be safe again.”

  “But Ezra is your grandchild,” Naomi pleaded. “The man said he would kill the children if we didn’t pay.”

  “We will continue to pray that he will not,” the bishop said. “But we cannot save two lives at the expense of all the other lives we are responsible for. I am Ezra’s grandfather and my heart is breaking, but I must make decisions that are best for all, not just for my own family.”

  Rachel knew that these were not empty words. In the Amish mind-set, an individual’s needs were important but never more important than the needs of their community.

  “I’m calling in the FBI,” Rachel said. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  “You can’t,” Naomi insisted. “You know what the kidnapper said would happen to our children if we got the authorities involved.”

  “The FBI have teams that are specialists in abduction. The nearest office is in Cleveland. It is only an hour and a half away. I can have a team here in two or three hours.”

  “And you have new information to give these specialists?” Reuben Miller asked. “Something that will help them find the children?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I think even the FBI must find a thread to tug on before they can start the unraveling.”

  “Of course.”

  “They will need to ask many questions of many people. I am thinking that FBI agents will not blend well into our community. They will drive government cars. They will be noticed, and quickly. Word spreads fast.”

  Which would put the children at greater risk.

  “Please, Rachel,” Naomi begged, “the kidnapper said he would know if we called in the police. You can’t do this.”

  “I have to do what I think is best for my son.”

  “Even if it puts my son in danger?”

  “You seem to think these people will keep their word, Naomi,” Rachel said. “They are criminals. They will say anything. Apart from the slim hope we have if we gave into their demands for money—which we can’t do—our only chance is to find them before the deadline. I don’t have the resources to do that by myself. I have to call in help.”

  “And once again, our people will be on the front page of every newspaper and on all the TV and radio stations,” Reuben said. “There will be newspeople from all over the world camped on our doorsteps, much like our Nickle Mine Amish friends had to deal with. How will that help our children? The kidnapper might feel that with so much attention, he has no option but to kill them as he threatened to do. We must keep Englisch out of this at all costs.”

  “But,” Samuel’s voice was strained, “maybe if we did have the money to give them…maybe they would keep their word. Those children…”

  “We must not fight among ourselves,” Reuben said sternly. “We will continue to pray and ask for the Lord’s wisdom and intervention. He is our greatest hope. Let us bow our heads as we pray for the children’s deliverance.”

  Everyone bowed their heads in prayer, but Rachel’s mind was whirling. She desperately needed to do something. But what was the wisest course of action? If she did call the FBI and the kidnapper found out and did what he threatened to do, she would never forgive herself. If she didn’t call the FBI and things went bad, she would never forgive herself either.

  A small cramp hit. Not a bad one, though. She ignored it and allowed her mind to keep circling the things they knew so far.

  The cell phone that the kidnapper had called from was a disposable one that couldn’t be traced. They were probably still in the vicinity—at least close enough to come get the ransom money. Apparently no one had seen anything or anyone on the road. Whoever had taken the children had at least a general knowledge of the Amish culture. Perhaps he was a local. The kidnapper had not yet called her, which either meant that Bobby had chosen not to give them the number, or…wasn’t able to.

  Her knees nearly buckled at the thought, but she forced herself to stay upright.

  There was a scripture that kept running through her mind, the one where Jesus said it was better for a person to have a millstone tied to his neck and thrown into a lake than to hurt a child. She and Jesus definitely saw eye to eye on that issue!

  Reuben cleared his throat, a signal that the group’s silent prayer was over. Daniel Hershberger, the other trustee of the fund, spoke up.

  “During prayer, I thought of something else. If we were to pay the ransom but allowed no outsiders to know what happened, it might not become general knowledge after all. The kidnapper could not advertise what he’s done for fear of being caught. I think it might be our best chance of preserving the boys’ lives without endangering our other children.”

  “I do not agree with this way of thinking,” Reuben said. “We cannot, as a people, justify paying criminals for their crimes.”

  “Daett!” Naomi cried. “Why are you being so stubborn? This is my son!”

  “And my beloved grandson.” Reuben was holding himself so rigidly, it looked as if he might break apart at any moment. “But as a bishop, I must do what I think is best. People know we are a nonviolent people, but we must not appear so weak-willed that we will give in to every ransom request an Englischer makes of us. If we were to do that, no Amish man, woman, or child would be safe from this kind of evil.”

  Naomi ran from the room and Luke followed slowly. Bishop Reuben watched his daughter depart with a look of great grief on his face.

  With nothing more to say, Rachel left the room as well. As a cop, she knew that Reuben had made a good decision. As a mother, she wanted to toss the two million dollars at the kidnapper and take the children and run.

  “I wish I had a photograph of our son,” Rachel heard Naomi murmuring inside the kitchen doorway. “Just in case we never see him again.”

  “And you think this would give you comfort?” Luke said. “I do not see that the Englisch, who have many photos, grieve any less because of it.”

  Rachel overheard this and went into the kitchen. “You don’t have any photos of Ezra?”

  “Luke feels strongly about obeying our church’s rule against photographs,” Naomi said. “And I have honored his wishes.”

  “I think I have one,” Rachel said. “I took it one day when they were playing outside. I honestly didn’t even think about the restrictions. They were just two little boys having fun, and I wanted to remember that day.”

  “Can I see it?” Naomi asked eagerly.

  Rachel took out her cell phone and scrolled through the photos until she found the one she was looking for. “Here.”

  Naomi stared longingly at her son’s face. “I’m so glad you have this. I will have a picture of him in case we never get the boys back.”

  “We’ll get them back,” Rachel said. “When they call back to give you instructions for the drop-off, don’t tell them we can’t get the money. Tell them we are working on it.”

  “Won’t that be a lie?” Naomi said.

  Rachel thought of Bertha’s offer to sell their farm for the ransom money. “Not entirely. The important thing is to find out exactly where the meeting place is and when they want us there. Then I’ll scout it out and begin to prepare.”

  She went out to her car, climbed in, and punched the phone number for the FBI. Regardless of what Naomi, Luke, and the bishops thought, she knew it was past time to call in the cavalry. She could not do this alone.

  Carl was giving Shadow a bath in the large metal tub used to dump dirty mop water. Shadow had enjoyed his walk on the trail a little too much. He had discovered a raccoon car
cass before Carl realized what he was into.

  His dog seemed almost human at times, practically able to read Carl’s thoughts and anticipate his needs. Other times Shadow was all dog, and being all dog meant rolling in things that left most humans holding their nose and shaking their head in bewilderment. Why would anything want to smell like a rotting animal? Shadow definitely needed a bath before he could sleep in Carl’s room tonight.

  Shadow was unrepentant. He stood in the soapy water with a goofy grin on his face, happily allowing Carl to hose him down in the janitor’s tub.

  Carl was still troubled by the expression on the face of the child who had been with that woman in the gray sweater. It kept nagging him, but he kept reminding himself that there was nothing he could do about it.

  He lifted Shadow, dripping, out of the tub and then stood back with a towel in front of him like a shield while the dog shook his fur and water flew around the room.

  “Feel better now, Shadow?” George said as he walked into the room.

  “Oh, hi, George,” Carl said. “My dog did something dumb. Why do they think it’s a good idea to roll in dead, smelly things?”

  George shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do people roll around in dead, smelly things?”

  “They don’t.” Carl was puzzled. “Do they?”

  “If you spent much time on my side of the desk while people told me their secrets, it would seem that way.”

  “What’s up?” Carl knelt down and started rubbing Shadow’s fur with the towel. “You usually don’t come around this late—especially on a Sunday after you’ve worked all day.”

  “I got a call from Bertha,” George said. “She has terrible news.”

  “Is Anna okay?” Carl asked. “I know they’ve all been worried about her health.”

  “It isn’t Anna. It’s Rachel’s son, Bobby. He and a little Amish friend have been kidnapped. They’re being held for two million dollars’ ransom.”

  Carl stopped rubbing Shadow’s fur and stood up. “What did you say?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

  “You heard me right. Bobby and a friend have been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. Bertha thought you and Shadow might be able to help since you’ve been training him for search and rescue. She just found out that the Sugarcreek police dog was poisoned by someone—probably the kidnapper—and is still fighting for his life.”

  “You know I would do anything for Bertha, but I’ve only been training Shadow for a few weeks. It takes at least a year to train a search-and-rescue dog. He’s smart, but I don’t think Shadow is even close to being able to do that effectively.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” George said. “I’ll go tell her.”

  “Wait—did you say there was another child with Bobby?” Carl asked.

  “Ezra Yoder. Bobby’s best friend.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him.”

  “Would anyone have a picture?”

  “Probably not. The child is Amish…but I can call Rachel and find out.”

  “If so, I’d really like to take a look at it,” Carl said. “I noticed something on the trail late this afternoon and I’m still uneasy about it. It might not have anything to do with this, but I’d feel better if I could take a look at the face of that child.”

  “I’ll call her right now,” George said. “Bertha gave me Rachel’s cell phone number a few minutes ago just in case you could help.”

  Carl let Shadow’s bathwater drain out of the tub while he waited for George to finish.

  A few moments later George handed him his cell phone, and Carl stared into the happier face of the child he had seen on the trail. The child was wearing Amish clothing in the photograph and his hair was longer, but Carl had spent the past twenty years reading faces for his own survival, and he was absolutely certain it was the same child.

  “Tell Rachel I need to talk to her,” Carl said.

  Chapter 56

  “I could walk home faster than we’re going,” Joe complained.

  “Someone in a body cast using a walker could get home faster than we’re going,” Darren said.

  They were creeping along a few inches at a time, sitting completely still more often than not. They had only managed to travel about a mile in the past half hour. Horns honked for no apparent reason except the drivers’ frustrations.

  “I wish we could find a side road and get out of this mess,” Darren said.

  “Do you see what I see?” Joe said.

  A woman driver had exited her sedan, and with both the front door and the back door propped open for a modicum of privacy, she was relieving herself in the middle of the highway. After adjusting her clothing, she closed the rear door and climbed back into her car.

  “She’s pregnant,” Joe said. “No wonder. It was hard on Grace when she was pregnant. She had to go about every fifteen minutes.”

  “How are things between you and Rachel?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. Things have felt a little strained when I’m at your place. Is she annoyed with me for getting you involved in the restaurant?”

  “Probably, but the main issue at home is her obsession with her dad’s killer. One of Rachel’s greatest qualities is her ability to hyperfocus when she needs to. It’s also a weakness because if something is bothering her, she can’t just shrug it off and go on with her life. She and Bertha are barely speaking these days because Bertha had the audacity to forgive the man and write to him.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “And since Rachel went through that weird stress-amnesia thing where she didn’t even recognize me, I keep wondering whether it will happen again if she’s under enough pressure. The last thing she needed was to have to face this kidnapping thing by herself.”

  “I’ve been praying for those two little boys while I’ve been driving.”

  “You have?” Joe was surprised. Faith was not Darren’s strong suit.

  “Yes, I have. Dad’s teachings didn’t fall on entirely deaf ears. I love my nephew, and I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

  “Thank you,” Joe said. “Now if only we could get off this road!”

  “We might be in luck.” Darren sat up straighter. “There’s a sign way up ahead pointing to what I think might be an alternate route. I see other cars getting off there. Check your GPS to make certain, and I’ll start trying to worm my way over.”

  “Where are you, Joe?” Rachel asked as she sped toward Millersburg to meet with—of all people—Carl Bateman. “How soon do you think you’re going to get here?”

  “We got stuck in one of the longest traffic jams I’ve ever experienced, and that’s coming from a man who lived in LA. We’re finally making decent time now, so if nothing else happens, I should be there soon. Is there any word on Bobby? Did you call the FBI yet?”

  “I did. Naomi and Luke were fighting me on it. They think if we bring in outsiders, this thing will go public and it will get the children killed. Right now I’m checking out a new lead. If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll be glad for any help the FBI can give me.”

  “What’s the new lead?”

  “Carl Bateman thinks he saw Ezra dressed in Englisch clothes and walking beside some woman while he had Shadow on the Holmes County Trail this afternoon.”

  “How would Carl know what Ezra looks like?”

  “I had a picture in my cell phone and sent it to George. Carl says he’s positive it’s the same child.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Of course not. I don’t believe a word that man says. But I have to check on it. I have nothing else. The thing that bothers me is that it seems awfully coincidental that Carl just happened to see a child who resembles Ezra.”

  “We don’t exactly live in a metropolitan area, Rachel,” Joe said. “It’s rare for us not to see people we know every time we go out. You’ve run into Carl twice now by accident. Why would it be impossible for Carl to
have seen Ezra?”

  “Call me paranoid, but I’m wondering if this might be a setup. Maybe Carl was in on the kidnapping.”

  “But why would he kidnap Bobby? He’s been working with that vet, building a life, making friends… Why on earth would he risk going back to jail when he has all that?”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Be careful, Rachel. I’ll be there soon.”

  She knew from experience that she was close to the end of her phone service. For some weird reason, she always had cell service in Sugarcreek, but somewhere between Walnut Creek and Berlin her phone always stopped getting a signal.

  “I have to hang up now, Joe. I’m going to lose service soon.”

  He didn’t respond, and she realized she was talking into a dead phone.

  Bertha was grateful not to have guests right now. Finding out Bobby was missing had been harder on her than anyone knew. Her spirit moaned with anguish. Not knowing what was happening to Bobby, not knowing if he was being hurt or hungry and scared…she didn’t think she could stand it if anything happened to that child.

  Everyone thought she was strong, but her carefully guarded secret was that she was not at all strong. She was just more determined than most to hide her pain and heartache.

  Tonight she was not strong enough to pretend strength that she did not have anymore. She needed to take refuge, emotional and physical. Her favorite choice, like Anna’s, was their old barn. It had been a friend to her since childhood. It was as though it had sheltered so many animals for so long that it had become a sort of living thing that wrapped its arms around her and gave her sanctuary when her heart was troubled.

  Eli’s sons had stacked several bales of hay in her barn. She seated herself on one now.

  She often came out here for solace. Bertha was frequently sad, although she hid it well. Her life had been useful and productive, but it had not been happy. And her lack of happiness was not something she allowed herself to dwell upon.

  Happiness was simply not something Amish people thought to pursue. Obedience, faithfulness, personal discipline, honesty, hard work—yes. These were Amish attributes, the things they tried to instill in their children. Happiness was seen as a by-product of all these virtues, not a goal in and of itself.