“They’re taking your daed,” Seth shouted.
Ella spun around in time to see her father pushed into the waiting vehicle. At least neither Gideon nor Jed was alone.
The engines of both vehicles sparked and caught, and Ella was left with her father’s stunned wife trembling and falling back into her crumbling flower bed.
“It’s Ella,” Miriam said.
James took the bundle of melting ice off his forehead and followed his wife’s gaze out the wide front window.
“She brought Rachel with her,” Miriam said.
“She wouldn’t want to leave Rachel on her own,” James said.
Miriam opened the front door before Ella could knock and admitted the two guests.
“I was too late—again,” Ella said. “Deputy Fremont was already there.”
“So they’ve taken Jed?” Miriam said, gesturing that Ella and Rachel should sit.
“And Seth,” Rachel said. “I promised to put him back in their school if they would just leave him alone, but their minds were made up.”
“James, how is your head?” Ella peered at the bruising lump.
“Never mind my head,” James said. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t warn anyone. They could have hidden. If I’d just had a horse.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Ella said. “Even a horse could not have raced against an English automobile to get to all the farms.”
“But some of them might have hidden their children. I can think of a dozen places Tobias and the girls would have been safe.”
“Where have they taken them?” Rachel asked. “The men will go to jail. I understand that. But where will they take the children?”
James reached for the papers Gideon had left behind, shaking his head. “State custody. That’s all it says. I suppose they will go wherever neglected children go.”
“My son is not neglected!” Rachel moved to the edge of her seat.
“Neither are Gideon’s children,” Miriam said.
“We have to find out where they are,” Ella said.
“‘Mr. Eggar,’” Miriam said. “That’s the last thing Gideon said. Mr. Eggar will know what to do.”
“Ella, go find this Mr. Eggar,” Rachel urged. “Do you know where his office is?”
“Yes,” Ella said, “right on Main Street.”
James painfully shook his head. “He’s not there. I tried. The young man in his office did not expect him back before he closed the office at six.”
Ella studied the clock on the mantel. Chasing around half the county all afternoon had consumed more time than she anticipated. Dusk enveloped the house. “It’s past six now,” she said.
“Someone in town will know which house is his,” Rachel said. “You’ll just have to keep asking until you find someone who does. Start with Lindy, or that English teacher who lives on her street.”
Ella’s gaze went to James and Miriam. James was once again pressing ice to his forehead, and Miriam was ghastly pale.
“I will look after James and Miriam,” Rachel said.
“I don’t need looking after,” James protested.
“Neither do I,” Miriam said.
Ella met Rachel’s glance.
“I don’t want to wait alone,” Rachel said. “We’ll all want to know what Ella finds out.”
“I should be the one to go,” James muttered.
“Old man,” Miriam said, “you’re going nowhere.”
Ella drew a deep breath. “I’ll make sure the lanterns on the buggy have plenty of oil.”
“You knew this was going to happen?” Margaret could hardly believe her ears. It was all she could do to remain seated on the davenport in her parlor.
Across the room, Gray Truesdale’s lanky form overpowered the chair he had chosen.
“It should come as no surprise,” Gray said.
“It most certainly does come as a surprise,” Margaret said, her pitch rising against her will. Fury roiled through her midsection. “The fines were ridiculous in the first place. But arresting the fathers? Taking well-loved children into state custody as if they were abandoned orphans?”
“The lawmen are only doing their jobs,” Gray said mildly. “It has nothing to do with you. Don’t let it get you into a bothered state.”
“A bothered state?”
“Your tea is getting cold,” Gray said.
Margaret was tempted to toss her cold tea in Gray’s lap. How was it possible that he could maintain this dispassionate demeanor when children were being stolen from their homes under the guise of the law?
“The men will take care of it.” Gray lifted his teacup. “Will you freshen this for me?”
Margaret glared but picked up the teapot and refilled his cup.
“You’re overreacting,” Gray said between sips. “You have to let things take their natural course.”
And just what was the “natural course” of a situation as complex as legislators and sheriffs and school boards refusing to view the circumstances through a lens other than their own? Margaret did not waste her breath posing the question to Gray.
“I saw your brother earlier,” she said instead. “He was acting quite odd.”
Gray shrugged. “You met him at Sunday dinner. You know he’s odd.”
“He was right here on my street, carrying a flour sack I’m certain did not contain flour.”
“People use old flour sacks for all sorts of things,” Gray said, forking into a sliver of pie. “Potato sacks, too. When we were young, the Amish around here were always glad to have sacks my mother didn’t want to use.”
“He made me nervous,” Margaret said. “I think I will have a word with Deputy Fremont about it. Perhaps there have been some thefts in the neighborhood.”
Gray put down his fork. “You think my brother is a thief?”
“I’m saying he was acting in an eccentric manner. If you want me to put such confidence in the sheriff’s department, wouldn’t it seem prudent to mention my observations?”
Gray took a bite of pie and chewed slowly. “You have misunderstood me.”
“Have I?”
“Margaret, we were having a pleasant evening before I mentioned the Amish problem. I’m sorry I brought it up. Let’s forget about it.”
“Those children must be frightened half out of their minds.”
Gertie’s face loomed in Margaret’s thoughts. Then one by one the other Amish children who had stopped attending school marched through her vision like a moving picture.
“They’ll be well looked after,” Gray said.
“You can’t know that. I have to do something.”
“I must insist that you stay out of this.”
Margaret raised her eyebrows.
“I know you are a woman of strong cause,” Gray said, “and on the whole I find it an admirable quality. But when we are married, I hope you know it will not be your place to involve yourself in matters I do not approve of.”
Margaret stood up now. “We have spoken around the matter of marriage,” she said, “and I confess I had hoped we would find a common mind. But I think we both know now that we are not as well matched as we had supposed.”
Speaking the words aloud jolted electricity through Margaret’s body.
Gray stood. “I can give you a comfortable life. You won’t get a better offer.”
“No,” she said softly, “I don’t suppose I will.”
A knock on the door startled them both. Margaret moistened her lips and answered the door. Ella Hilty stood under the porch light.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Ella said. “I need to find Mr. Percival Eggar. I wonder if you know where he lives?”
“Come in,” Margaret said.
Ella glanced at Gray. “I’m intruding.”
“This is Mr. Truesdale,” Margaret said. “He’s finished his pie, and I’m certain he will understand your need for assistance.”
“I’m grateful for any help you can give me.” Ella’s words lost
their fluidity. “My father … Gideon … the children … I don’t know where to begin.”
“I think I know the basics,” Margaret said. “I’m sorry I don’t know where Mr. Eggar lives, but we can get the telephone operator on the line. She will know how to reach him.”
Margaret picked up the telephone on the table at the bottom of the stairs. With heavy, deliberate steps, Gray Truesdale left the house and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 33
It’s late. You must stay the night,” Margaret said after Mr. Eggar left her bungalow with two sheets of notes recording Ella’s account.
Ella shook her head. “Miriam and James and Rachel—they’ll all worry that something happened to me as well.”
“I’ll drive you, then,” Margaret said.
Again Ella shook her head. “James’s wagon is already stranded in town. I can’t leave Gideon’s buggy here all night. We’ll need it in the morning—and what would we do with the horse?”
Ella was just being practical. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and thanked Margaret again before stepping out into the darkness. On most evenings, Amish farms would have quieted by now, lanterns turned low for one last look at sleeping children before parents retired themselves. Morning light would soon enough usher in the labor of another day of farm chores.
On this night, though, the lanterns would burn deep into the darkness, beacons of hope for what the new day might bring.
James, Miriam, and Rachel had hardly moved from where Ella left them hours earlier, though Rachel said she had been out to milk the cows for the night. The Hilty cows were long past their evening milking, so Ella spoke rapidly. There had been little Percival Eggar could do with state and legal offices closed for the evening. He promised to give his full attention when the business day began and to find out where the children had been taken. It was sure to be one of the state orphanages, he said. The men would be in the county courthouse in Chardon, and he would bargain for their release. In the meantime, Mr. Eggar suggested, they should all hope and pray for a firm legal outcome in their favor.
Hope and pray. After milking the Hiltys’ cows—a task Seth normally assumed—Ella dragged herself back into the house, where she sat on her bed to sort out which came first—hope or prayer. Did she pray because she had hope for the answer she sought, or did she hope because of the comfort of prayer?
In the morning, the women descended on the Hilty farm before Ella cleared away the dishes of Rachel’s uneaten breakfast. At last Ella had her answer about how many fathers had been arrested and how many children were deemed neglected.
Gideon Wittmer; two girls, one boy.
Jed Hilty; one boy.
Cristof Byler; one girl, three boys.
John Hershberger; three girls, one boy.
Isaiah Borntrager; two girls, three boys.
Chester Mast; two boys.
Six men and nineteen children. How the women had known to come to Ella, she did not know. Perhaps they had found each other one by one because they knew the men who chose to send their children to Ella to teach.
“Mr. Eggar is working hard for us,” Ella assured the circle of anxious mothers.
“When will we know where our children are?” Mrs. Hershberger jiggled her restless infant on one knee.
Ella swallowed a lump of impossible words. “Most likely, they are at an orphanage.”
“But they are not orphans!” came the nearly unanimous response.
“My Ezra was not at home when they came,” Mrs. Borntrager said. “Will they come back for him?”
“They’ll be back,” Mrs. Byler said. “They’ll accuse us of neglecting the little ones as well.”
“They’ll take my baby.” Mrs. Hershberger held the child tightly to her chest.
“They could come for David,” Mrs. Byler said, looking at Rachel.
“David goes to school,” Rachel said.
“But they’ll wonder what neglect caused him to run away from home.”
“We’ll have to hide the kinner still with us,” Mrs. Hershberger said. “The English cannot steal children they cannot find.”
Ella put up her hands, palms out. “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. We have God on our side, and we have Mr. Eggar. He will come to the schoolhouse at three this afternoon to tell us what he knows.”
Everyone’s eyes moved to the clock on the mantel, ready to count down seven and a half excruciating hours.
“I have to take James into Seabury to fetch his horse and wagon,” Ella said. “And we must care for the animals. Let us not be afraid to ask for help when we need it.”
She wanted to add, I’m sure they’ll all be home soon. This was the prayer of her heart. But could she sustain hope if the prayer went unanswered?
The Wayfarers Home for Children. That was the name Percival Eggar uncovered in the legal documents he had demanded. At least—as far as they could tell—all of the children had been taken to the same location. They might have been scattered around eastern Ohio. For now they were together.
It was Saturday. Margaret owed no time to the Seabury Consolidated School District.
Three days after their arrests, the Amish fathers were still in jail in Chardon, and their children were still temporary wards of the state.
It was unconscionable.
Margaret had heard nothing from Gray since Wednesday evening, nor did she expect to. He had wanted her for his wife. Margaret had no doubt of this. He was courting in polite stages, and Margaret had given him every encouragement.
Until this. Until the Amish mystification.
The pressure in her chest waxed and waned through the days and nights. Seeing Gray around town would stir up visions of what might have been.
It was better to find out now, she told herself.
The children were what mattered. The Wayfarers Home for Children was thirty miles from Seabury. Margaret supposed few of the Amish families ever had reason to be thirty miles from their own farms. Had the sheriff’s department done this on purpose—taken the children beyond reasonable reach of their mothers?
Margaret owned a car and could afford the gasoline. The least she could do was drive thirty miles and ascertain the welfare of the children.
She found the building without trouble. A blockish brick structure, it was set back from an entrance arched in wrought iron. Despite the expansive lawns calling for tumbles and giggles, Margaret saw no sign of children. She scowled at the thought that residents of the Wayfarers Home for Children attended classrooms even on Saturday. The driveway wound toward the building, and Margaret saw no reason not to park as close to the front door as possible.
At a reception desk a few minutes later, Margaret politely explained the nature of her visit. She wanted only to take assurance to the mothers of the Amish children of their well-being.
“The children are being suitably looked after,” said the graying woman behind a narrow desk, “which is a great advancement beyond the actions of their parents, as I understand it.”
Margaret bit her tongue. “I would like to see them. Many of them will recognize me from their days at the Seabury school where I teach.”
“This is an unorthodox request. I would have to consult the director.”
“Please do.” Margaret seated herself on the edge of a wooden chair that rocked on one uneven leg. “I will wait.”
“He may be engaged.” The woman pushed spectacles up her nose.
Margaret smiled. “I teach six-year-olds, so I am well acquainted with patience.”
The woman’s chair scraped the tile floor, and her buttoned shoes dragged down the hall. Margaret’s investment paid its return in the arrival of a man who was perhaps forty years old.
“I understand you want to see the Amish children,” he said.
Margaret stood. “That’s correct.”
“I’m afraid children are not allowed visitors so soon after their arrival,” he said. “We find it only distresses their adjustment.”
“Surely they won’t be here long enough to have to adjust,” Margaret said.
“We have our policies.” He gave a tight smile.
Margaret’s blood raced. “You don’t mean to tell me you would withhold them from their own mothers.”
“The policies are quite clear on this matter. The children are here because they were neglected. Any visit would have to be closely supervised.”
A supervised visit would be better than no visit.
“So if I return with the mothers on another day,” Margaret said, “have I your word that they would be permitted to see their children?”
“Briefly,” he said, reluctant. “No more than one hour, and only if I have adequate staff available to meet the supervision standards.”
Margaret met his eyes and held them hard. “I will be back.”
Getting there had been easier than James imagined it would be. The first glimmer of opportunity came when Miriam insisted on going with Ella to a meeting with the women, leaving James alone in the dawdihaus with his bruised forehead. Regardless of what he might look like, he was not seriously hurt. Without Tobias and Gideon, the farm chores had fallen to him. If he could handle that work, he was fit enough for what he had in mind.
In the unexpected solitude, James scribbled a note and left it in the middle of the table, where Miriam would find it easily. He would not be home for supper. Only the fingers of one hand would be required to count the number of times he was not home for supper with his wife in the last forty-four years.
Once he heard Margaret’s news, James wanted to see for himself. But thirty miles was a long way to take a horse and buggy. James might find a train for part of the way, but he would be tied to schedules he did not know. David’s method seemed more direct and efficient. If English drivers would stop for David when he sought a ride into Seabury, why would they not stop for James as well?
He had changed automobiles twice, but here he stood in a gently descending expanse of shadows behind the Wayfarers Home for Children. One by one, lights flickered on inside the building as late afternoon slid into evening. James suspected an approach to the rear of the building held more potential for his goal.
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