The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Have you seen the boy?” Davis asked.

  Bo shook his head. For Norton to make the forty-five-minute jaunt to this side of the county, the boy must be on death’s door. “He started vomiting; I thought it was the medicine.” Mattie’s words rolled over in his mind. Bo hadn’t even thought to question her about blisters inside his mouth. A sick feeling came over him.

  A baby’s cry stole his attention. He peeked into the waiting room, then seeing Amanda and Mattie both reduced to tears, wished he hadn’t.

  Her friend, Grace, tried to soothe the infant by rocking Amanda in her arms, but the bawling child held her arms toward her mother as the police officer led Mattie to the door. Bo stepped aside, and Mattie pinned him with a glare so cold it was as if another person were looking at him.

  “I believed you,” she said.

  As the police officer escorted her down the hall, her fierce stare bore a hole into Bo’s heart. Her words echoed. Bo put his chin on his chest. Lady, I believed you too.

  The child thrashed in Grace’s arms, wailing “Mama” so loudly a fleet of nurses were summoned to respond.

  “Take care of mei bopplis, Grace.”

  Davis wormed between the swarm of nurses, producing the legal document from her attaché case. “This is a signed court order giving temporary custody of Martha Diener’s two children, three-year-old Nathan Paul Diener and eighteen-month-old Amanda Grace Diener, to the State of Michigan Child Protective Services. I’ll ask that you release the child at this time.” She reached for the toddler, but the frightened child clung to Grace’s neck.

  Grace turned her pleading eyes at Bo. “Amanda’s frightened. Couldn’t I hold her for a while longer?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  The child’s arms clung to Grace’s neck. Davis practically had to pry the child off.

  Amanda made a piercing scream that reverberated against the corridor walls and reached the barren recesses within Bo’s soul. The poor child didn’t know her life was about to change.

  Davis thrust the squirming toddler against Bo’s chest. “I can’t hold her,” she said, handling Amanda like a hot potato. He barely had a hold on the child before Davis released her grip.

  “Shh,” he said softly.

  Amanda reached her arms out to her mother, now at the end of the hall.

  Before turning the corner toward the bank of elevators, Mattie looked over her shoulder, her face wet with tears. “Mama liebs you, Amanda.”

  His heart was seared by the gut-wrenching scene. A mother and child’s bond isn’t easily broken, and he managed to get caught in the middle of this one. Separate yourself. You’re blinded by the fact that she’s Amish.

  “Mama!”

  Another shrill cry caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. “You’re going to be okay, sweetie.” He patted her back, repeating the words, reassuring the girl. If the child were older, she would have detected the apprehension in his voice. Amanda wasn’t like the other at-risk children he’d rescued. This didn’t feel like a rescue at all. The image of the child torn from her mother would haunt him forever.

  He had to desensitize, to distance himself from this case. Not all Amish homes were centered on love. He learned that firsthand. Perspiration gathered on his brow as he jostled Amanda in his arms.

  “Job getting to you?” Norton said under his breath.

  “I guess.” Bo tilted his face toward the ceiling hoping his burning eyes would reabsorb the developing tears. He had no sympathy in his heart for an abusive mother, so why had Mattie Diener’s case affected him to this degree?

  Amanda arched her back and let out an even louder scream. Maybe if he sat some place quiet, she would settle down. Bo slipped into the waiting room and took a seat in the corner. He wasn’t sure what arrangements Davis and Norton had already made. But until it was time to go, he hoped to somehow settle the child. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” He patted her back, and when that didn’t work, he rocked gently. The rhythmic movement eased the child’s tension. She stared up at him, her big blue eyes wet with tears. Either she was beginning to trust him or she’d run out of steam. Either way, Bo was thankful she’d calmed down.

  Ben and Grace approached him. “Why did the police officer take Mattie?” Ben asked.

  Bo shook his head. “I don’t know any of the details.”

  “She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Grace said, sniffling. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  Ben reached his arm around Grace’s waist. “Can mei wife and I take Amanda home with us?”

  “Please,” the woman pleaded.

  The transition would certainly be easier on the child. Bo’s heart twisted at the agony. That wasn’t how the system worked. “I’m sorry. Only a judge can make that decision.”

  “We would take gut care of her,” Grace said. “We’ve been part of Amanda’s life since the day she was born. We took care of her and Nathan earlier today.”

  Davis raised her brow at Bo. “We need to go.”

  Amanda started to cry again when Bo stood.

  “Please, wait.” Grace followed them into the hall. “Tell us where you’re taking Amanda.”

  “That’s against policy.” Davis reached for Amanda. “I’ll take her now and meet you in the lobby.”

  Bo released Amanda, then reached into his front shirt pocket for a business card and pen. Amanda’s crying echoed down the corridor as he jotted his cell number on the back and handed the card to Ben. “I can be reached at these numbers. For now, Amanda will be placed in a temporary foster home. The whereabouts is private information, but I’ll make sure she’s properly cared for.”

  “What about Mattie?” Grace dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Are you going to tell her where you’re taking her daughter?”

  Bo shook his head. “Either Erica Davis or I can answer what questions Mattie—Mrs. Diener might have.”

  “This is exactly what Mattie feared,” Grace told her husband. “Didn’t she say they would take Nathan?”

  Her husband nodded.

  “I thought she was making something out of nothing, but she was right.” Grace glared at Bo. “Why is this happening?”

  For the police to take Mattie into custody, something had happened. But the pat answer he normally gave didn’t seem right. They didn’t deserve his typical evasive response where he deferred most questions to the state attorney. “I haven’t been briefed about the situation, so I don’t have an answer.” Still sounded like a pat reply.

  “Will they let us see Mattie at the police station?”

  “I’m not familiar with their policy.” His responsibility was to provide a safe environment for the children, not to visit the person responsible for inflicting the harm. “If you don’t have any more questions . . .” He turned before they had a chance to respond. Desensitize. He took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. “Do you need a ride to the police station?” Stupid. He wasn’t a taxi service. His job was to secure the children’s safety.

  “Thank you, but the station is only a few blocks from here. We’ll manage.” Ben directed his wife toward the elevators.

  Bo followed them with his eyes for a moment. That police station would be flooded with Amish folks in a few hours. He turned and headed toward the nurses’ desk.

  “I’d like the room number for Nathan Diener, please.”

  “I’m sorry. He’s not able to have visitors.”

  “I’m with Child Protective Services,” he said.

  “Can I see your ID?”

  “Absolutely.” He reached for his back pocket and sighed as the memory of his missing wallet flooded back. “My wallet was stolen earlier.”

  The nurse cocked her head.

  Bo pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. “Here’s my card.” He craned his neck, looking for the blond-haired nurse who’d recognized him earlier.

  “Without a picture ID, I’m unable to allow you to see him.” She hand
ed him back the card. “Sorry.”

  Bo groaned under his breath. “Is Doctor Wellington available? She’s the one who requested the initial investigation.”

  “I believe she’s already gone for the day, but I’ll have her paged.”

  “Thank you.” Bo stepped aside when another visitor approached the desk. Several minutes later, the nurse confirmed the doctor wasn’t answering her page. Bo thanked her again, then headed down the hall toward the lobby.

  He heard the wailing child midway down the hall. Davis was pacing the lobby, bouncing the toddler in her arms.

  “What took you so long?” She strode across the room and thrust the baby at him. “That child has a good set of vocal cords.”

  “Oh, did you hear that, darling? She likes your singing.” He used a soft, cheerful tone, hoping to calm Amanda. His effort failed.

  “That wasn’t singing.” Davis brushed a piece of lint off the shoulder of her beige linen suit coat. “Since you’re here and the child seems to like you, would you come with me to drop her off at the foster home?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He wasn’t about to leave Amanda in Davis’s care.

  She glanced at her watch. “Can we leave now?”

  “The child senses your impatience.” He spoke to Davis in the same singsong voice as he used with Amanda, which by her scornful expression had annoyed her. Perhaps Davis hadn’t thought about the hair-pulling car ride ahead of them. If he didn’t spend a few minutes trying to gain the child’s trust, she would work herself into a full-blown panic. He learned the hard way that a child this upset could suddenly start gasping or do the opposite and hold her breath. Gaining trust was the key. “Shh . . . you’re going to be all right, Amanda. Ich fashprecha, engel.”

  The child stopped crying and stared at him, her long lashes glistening with tears.

  Davis pivoted around to face him. “What did you say?”

  Without breaking eye contact with Amanda, he replied, “I reassured her she’d be all right.”

  “After that. You spoke something in . . . gibberish and the child stopped crying. What exactly did you say?”

  “I called her an angel.” He motioned to the papers in Davis’s hand. “Does your paperwork mention what home is taking her?”

  “Mrs. Appleton agreed to take the child until we can establish a more permanent placement.” Davis pushed up her sleeve and studied her watch. “It’s after six. I told her we would drop off the child over an hour ago.”

  Norton ambled across the lobby toward them. Over the years, Bo had seen that solemn expression only once—restraining grave news. Bo would forever remember his first case. The sunken-eyed stare of the emaciated girl, crippled by an abusive father and lying in a hospital bed no longer fighting to live. He choked up every time he recalled the case. The system failed that little girl.

  “How’s the boy?” Davis asked Norton.

  “Critical.”

  Bo stepped forward. “Did he say what happened?”

  Norton shook his head. “He’s sedated.”

  “According to the mother, the boy was vomiting,” Bo said. “She thought maybe he had a reaction to his antibiotics.”

  Norton grimaced. “Are we talking about the same kid?”

  “Nathan Diener,” Bo said. “The three-year-old Amish boy.”

  “I don’t know why she would say the medicine hurt him when the evidence shows he was beaten—nearly to death. The doctors don’t expect him to make it.”

  “Beaten?” Bo’s knees went weak. They couldn’t possibly be talking about the same boy. The woman wasn’t capable of inflicting that harm. Was she?

  “Either that,” Norton continued, “or he was trampled by horses. But the fact he has no broken bones leads the doctors to believe otherwise. He was battered nonetheless. The woman’s looking at jail time—first-degree murder if he doesn’t make it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The windowless room inside the police station was hot, stuffy, and smelled of stale sweat. Mattie sat in the metal chair, arms crossed in a self-hug, and shivered. Never before had gray walls looked so bleak. A metal table held the center of the room with a single chair on one side and two chairs opposing it. She lowered her head and stared at the worn spots of gray paint on the cement floor.

  The day’s events replayed in her mind. Allowing the hospital workers to separate her from Nathan was a horrible mistake. Calling Bo was too. She thought he would help. Wrong. He was an outsider.

  Nerves had coated her tongue and throat with a bitter taste and knotted her stomach. If only she could vomit and rid her body of the sour contents.

  Two men, dressed in long-sleeved white shirts, dark trousers, and wearing shoulder-holstered guns, entered the room. The door clanged shut after them. The men approached the table and sat opposite her.

  The younger man placed a small recorder on the table and pressed the button. “I’m Detective Bradshaw and this is my partner, Detective Holt.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s 1800 hour on June 16 . . .” He settled back in his chair. “Are you ready to make a statement, Mrs. Diener?”

  She looked at the gray-haired man, holding a pen poised above a pad of yellow paper, then over to the younger man who had asked the question. “I’d like to know how mei kinner—children are doing. Please.”

  A heavy pause followed. The man introduced as Detective Holt tapped the pen against the pad. Mattie’s throat tightened, the hot air turning solid in her lungs.

  Detective Bradshaw spoke first. “Your daughter is with Child Protective Services.”

  Both men eyed her hard, scrutinizing her reaction—her response.

  “What does that mean?” she asked calmly.

  Neither replied. The gray-haired man continued to tap his pen against the pad.

  Mattie leaned forward. “Where did they take her?”

  “How about you answer our questions first?”

  “I have to know if she’s safe.” Mattie’s voice cracked. “What about mei sohn? How is he?”

  The pen tapping stopped. “Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about, Mrs. Diener.” Detective Holt’s sharp, authoritative tone sent a shudder down her spine. “Suppose you answer some questions and . . . maybe afterward, we’ll make a call to the hospital for an update on his condition.”

  Mattie’s skin tingled. The maybe sounded more intimidating than promising. “What do you want me to tell you?”

  “What did you use, a broom handle? An iron rod? What?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mei sohn is sick. He had a fever and was vomiting.”

  Detective Bradshaw slid his chair back and stood. He planted his hands on the table shoulder width apart and leaned toward her. “Was he disobedient? Is that why you beat him?”

  “Nay!”

  “Do you spank your children, Mrs. Diener?”

  “Sometimes.”

  The man’s eyes gleamed as if what she said brought great satisfaction. “Give us an example of a time you spanked your children.”

  Her mind went blank. She nervously shook her head and shrugged.

  “Think, Mrs. Diener. You were upset with your son. Angry he did . . .?”

  She glanced at the older detective transcribing the conversation. “It’s nett against the law to spank your children,” she said.

  Detective Holt looked up from the pad. “It is if your discipline inflicts harm. The boy has bruises.”

  Bruises? “We bumped heads a few days ago. Perhaps the bruises are from that.”

  “The bruises I’m referring to are not on his head. You’ll have to come up with another reason.”

  The room spun as her brain filtered the implication of what he was saying. “I don’t know of any other bruises.”

  Both men glared.

  Her mind whirled. Had Nathan fallen? Had something happened earlier? Grace would have said if that was the case. She recalled their buggy pulling into her driveway . . . Ben spoke about fishing. “When Nathan feels better.”


  “Do you have another explanation for the bruises?” Detective Bradshaw broke the silence.

  “He might have fallen,” she offered timidly.

  “Or maybe you pushed him down a flight of stairs? Does your home have a second story or basement?”

  “A cellar, jah.”

  “Is isolating him in the cellar part of his punishment?”

  “Nay!” Her eyes moistened with tears. “I’d never harm mei kinner. Never.” Mattie clutched her stomach. Churning. Churning. She had to find a wastepaper can or . . . too late. What little substance she had in her stomach landed on the gray cement floor.

  The younger man left the room as she heaved only bile the second time. A few moments later, he returned with some paper napkins and a cup of water.

  Mattie drank the cool liquid. Her stomach roiled again.

  “We can give you a minute or two before we begin again,” the older man said.

  “I-I-I think I’d like that attorney you said could be appointed.”

  Hours after delivering Amanda to the temporary foster care home, Bo still held the image of the child’s terrorized expression in his mind. She was safe with Mrs. Appleton, although convincing a toddler of that would be impossible. The blaring TV startled the girl. So did the ding of the microwave when Mrs. Appleton heated a bowl of instant oatmeal. Although Davis had made it clear she wanted to leave immediately, Bo had stalled. He was glad he did. Mrs. Appleton wasn’t able to get Amanda to eat the oatmeal, but she ate with his coaxing.

  “You made quite an impression on her,” Davis had said when they were leaving, and Amanda held her arms in the air wanting him to pick her up. Having never experienced that sort of reaction from any of the other children he’d placed over the years, his heart swelled with pride. At the same time, he hated his job. It seemed exceptionally cruel after gaining Amanda’s trust to have to leave her with a stranger. But Bo couldn’t take the child home with him. The image of the girl’s big blue, watery eyes etched in his mind and wouldn’t be fading anytime soon.

  On the drive home, Davis prattled about the case. To her, it was some sort of victory. She had even suggested they go out and celebrate. Celebrate what? Didn’t she know a family torn apart wasn’t something to rejoice over? He declined the offer to stop somewhere and drove her straight home, then headed home himself. Only he wasn’t tired. The day’s events had put him on edge. He’d always been able to read people well, know if they were lying—if they were guilty. But his analysis of Mattie Diener had failed. Even the woman’s friend had said Mattie expected the authorities to take her children.