by Ruth Reid
Bishop Zook handed Gideon the lantern, then squatted next to Bay. When he ran his hand down the horse’s leg, Bay flinched. “It’s tender.”
“I lathered him in liniment hoping it would reduce the swelling. I’m nett sure what else to do.”
“It looks as though you’ve done everything you can do for nau.” Bishop Zook stood, removed a hankie from his pocket, and used it to wipe the liniment off his hands. “The swelling isn’t too bad, but he’s definitely favoring it. I wouldn’t suggest you drive him anywhere tonight. Mei fraa and I will give you a ride home.”
“Danki for taking a look at him.”
“If the swelling isn’t down by tomorrow, you’ll probably need to call a vet. He might have a stress fracture.”
Gideon didn’t want to think about the possibility of an injury that severe. A big vet bill would deplete the money he’d been saving to buy a farm. Not that he was in a rush to make that type of purchase. “I’ll be praying that isn’t the case.” He’d put his heart into training the three-year-old and could kick himself for not getting him home before the storm. He should have seen the weather changing and left the river sooner.
“It’s getting late,” the bishop said. “Your parents are probably worried about you.”
“Jah, I’m sure you’re right.” Gideon looked down at his muddy boots. Mamm did have a tendency to worry too much. It wouldn’t be the first time she stayed up late, knitting into the night until all of her sons were home. Her hair didn’t turn gray until his older brothers went on their rumspringa. Although Gideon had vowed not to put her through the same stress, he’d failed tonight.
He latched the stall door. “I’ll plan on doing Mordecai’s barn chores while he’s in the hospital.” He glimpsed Bishop Zook studying him and gulped. “Unless you have someone else in mind to assign the work.”
“I know you’re capable of handling the extra chores, but are you able to avoid temptation?”
Gideon coughed into his fist. He hadn’t known the bishop to be so blunt before. But now that he was a baptized member, things were different. He was expected to follow the rules of the Ordnung.
“You’re a member of the church,” Bishop Zook said sternly. “Spending too much time with the young Pinkham maeds would not be wise.”
“I haven’t forgotten our talk about being unequally yoked, and Olivia and I haven’t courted since she changed her mind about joining the church.” He pushed a piece of straw with the toe of his boot. He’d recited the passage in Second Corinthians about not being yoked together with unbelievers until it became permanently etched in his mind—on his heart.
“Olivia isn’t the only maedel I was talking about,” Bishop Zook said.
Sure, he and Faith had been spending more time together, but she was in the process of becoming baptized, making the same lifelong commitment to the church. It wasn’t like he was developing feelings for someone who had no intention of joining the faith.
“Faith’s a gut person, and becoming a member of the district is very important to her. She’s forgone rumspringa in order to surrender her life to God,” Gideon said.
“Then I suggest you heed mei warning about temptation.”
Faith shuddered beneath the quilt each time the wind picked up and the old oak tree’s long branches scratched against the glass. She flipped over, closed her eyes, and buried her face in the depths of the feather-stuffed pillow. Olivia’s snoring usually drowned out sounds that were now noticeable in her absence. Faith had shared a bedroom with her sister her entire life, and while she had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a room of her own, tonight she wished Olivia was home, filling the silence with her nasal-clogged breaths.
Faith tried to block out the moonlight projections of fingerlike shadows crawling over the chest of drawers and along the wall. Her mind was playing tricks on her. The shadows weren’t moving closer, were they?
“Think about other things,” Faith told herself, then pressed the sides of the pillow against her ears. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but just as disturbing was the conjured image of Gideon that her subconscious created. She’d never experienced the warmth of his gaze or seen his dark-blue eyes twinkle so intensely as in the barn seconds prior to Olivia arriving. It’s nett what you think.
Faith flopped over on her back, the bed springs squeaking. She would never get to sleep if she couldn’t stop him from invading her mind. Gideon was off-limits.
At home, Gideon removed his boots in the mudroom and placed them next to his father’s by the back door. His mother was a stickler for not tracking in dirt and had trained him well. He tiptoed into the kitchen, his mouth watering as he inhaled the lingering aroma of fried chicken and biscuits.
Moonlight filtered through the kitchen windows, lighting the way around the oversized butcher-block island in the center of the room. He stopped at the stove, lifted the lid on the warmer compartment, and smiled at his discovery. Wrapped neatly in tinfoil was the supper plate his mother had saved for him. Heat radiated from the stove, which meant his mother must have recently banked it.
Gideon removed the plate from the warmer using a quilted potholder, then carefully carried the meal to the table. Leaving the plate covered to conserve heat, he went to the cabinet for a glass. Normally he liked coffee with his meal, but water would have to do. He didn’t need caffeine this late. In order to do his chores plus the Pinkhams’, he’d have to get up before the birds sang. As he filled a water glass at the sink, a petite figure appeared in the doorway.
“Why are you rummaging around in the dark?” Mamm whispered.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone.” Gideon kept his voice low. He fished a fork, knife, and spoon from the drawer.
Mamm shuffled into the room barefooted, her thinning gray hair down past her shoulders. She rotated the lazy Susan in the center of the table until she located the box of wooden matches. She ignited the lamp wick, and a soft yellow glow filled the table area.
“Did you get caught somewhere in the storm?”
No hint of sleepiness in her voice. Gideon recognized this was her roundabout way of prying. He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat. “I was at the hospital most of the nacht. The Pinkhams were in an accident.”
“Ach! Are they all right?”
“Mordecai broke his leg in several places. Apparently a severe enough break that his bone nicked an artery, and he lost a lot of blood.”
“And Irma?”
“The doktah admitted her for observation, although something was said about her organs being bruised.”
Mamm covered her mouth. His mother tended to be one of the organizers when a family was in crisis. In the silence, she was probably already planning the meal deliveries.
Gideon peeled the tinfoil away from the plate, then breathed in his favorite meal before he bowed his head. Heavenly Father, bless this food. Watch over Faith tonight, and please heal her mother and father. Amen. His prayer was short and to the point, but God was certainly aware his stomach had been growling for hours.
Mamm removed the butter dish from the lazy Susan and slid it across the table for him to lather his biscuits.
“Danki.” He bit into the crispy chicken thigh.
Mamm pushed away from the table. A drawer squeaked open, then closed. She draped a dish towel over his shoulder and returned to her seat. “Did you hear how long Mordecai and Irma will be in the hospital?”
He wiped his face with the soft cloth. “Nothing definite. But Mordecai’s leg will take anywhere from four to six weeks to heal. And that’s if all goes well.” He tossed the picked-clean bones on the plate and selected the fluffier of the two biscuits.
Mamm leaned forward. “How’s Olivia?”
“Shook up, I guess.” He concentrated on slathering the biscuit with butter. When he thought it was safe to look up, he lifted his gaze, but dropped it immediately when her brows crinkled and the lines across her forehead became more pronounced. Give her a minute or two and she would figure
another way to slip Olivia into the conversation. Mamm always did. Even when he’d purposely kept her, as well as the rest of his family, in the dark about who he was courting. “Mothers know these things,” he remembered her saying. “I’m praying for your future fraa.” Sparing her the details, he used to simply thank her. She did, after all, only want the very best for him.
He pretended not to notice that his mother had sunk back against the chair and crossed her arms. Gideon took a bite of the biscuit and savored the flavor as the butter melted in his mouth.
“I’ll arrange meals and help around the house. Do you know if Olivia and Faith will need assistance at the restaurant?”
“Faith stopped at Catherine Glick’s haus on the way home from the hospital and talked with her about working more hours.” Perhaps the inflection in his voice when he mentioned Faith gave him away, but his mother’s jaw went slack for half a second.
His mouth dried, the biscuit clogged his throat. Gideon gulped the entire glassful of water in one long drink.
“You gave Faith a ride home from the hospital?”
“Actually, Beverly Dembrowski was kind enough to give us both a ride to Alpena and back to Faith’s haus.” Realizing he’d said too much, he changed the subject. “Did I tell you Bay injured his leg? He became spooked by the thunder and lightning and ended up stumbling. I doktahed it with Mordecai’s horse liniment, but Bay was still favoring it too much to chance hitching him to the buggy. Bishop Zook and Alice gave me a ride home.”
Gideon pushed up from the table. “I think I’ll turn in. I promised to help with the barn chores tomorrow at the Pinkhams’.” He set his dishes in the sink, then escaped the kitchen before his mother found her voice.
Chapter 14
Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
Present day
Adriana!” Roslyn shot up in bed, clutching her chest, breathing hard, and scanning the dark room. The way her nightgown stuck to her clammy skin, it’d be easy to assume the air conditioner had stopped working sometime during the night and the July heat had soaked through the satin material. But that wasn’t the case. The overhead air vent blew cold air, raising the hairs on her arms and making her shiver.
Brandon’s arm came around her. “It’s okay. You had another bad dream.”
“This was different,” she whispered.
Her husband rolled to the edge of their king-sized bed and flipped on the lamp. “I’ll get you something to drink.” He tossed the covers back and climbed off the mattress. “Do you want water or something stronger?”
“Water, please.” Roslyn didn’t want anything to interfere with her ability to recall every second of the dream. Holding her forehead, she collapsed against the pillows and closed her eyes. Why the same redheaded man? Did she know him?
Brandon returned to the bedroom with a glass of water. He sat down on the edge of the mattress on her side of the bed and handed her the glass. “I also brought you this.” He handed her a blue oval-shaped tablet.
“I don’t need Xanax.”
“It’ll relax you.”
“It’ll make me forget.”
“Roz.” He groaned. “You’re exhausted. You’re scheduled for multiple speaking engagements for the foundation and talking on camera always makes you nervous. You never sleep well between tapings.”
“This isn’t the time to remind me, Brandon. I’m flying to New York later today to do another segment on DiAnna’s show.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and tossed the covers back. “I have to go.”
Brandon followed her into the bathroom. He leaned against the granite counter and crossed his arms as she turned on the shower. He was wearing only his pajama bottoms, and she could see his thick shoulders and strong chest, exposing his love of sports and the sculpted results of extensive daily workouts.
She slipped into the walk-in closet, selected a silk blouse and linen suit, then debated which pair of shoes would best fit the occasion. Flats or heels? Nude or white? Open- or closed-toe?
“You never said what your dream was about,” he said, poking his head around the closet entrance.
“A redheaded man was holding a newspaper and on the front page it read: ‘Long Wait Over, Colepepper’s Abducted Daughter Home Safe.’” She withheld the fact that she’d had the same dream before, even the day Adriana went missing. “What do you think it means?”
Brandon grimaced.
She should have known better and not asked. Roslyn tilted her chin and marched past him, stopping to hang her clothes on the hook outside the shower.
“Roz.” He turned her shoulders so she was facing him. “I think it’s clear how busy you’ve been.”
“This was real,” she rasped. “I saw her.”
Roslyn climbed into the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car and glanced at her watch. Hopefully Chrisla wasn’t running late. “Have you checked the traffic?” she asked the driver.
“Clear all the way to the airport, ma’am.”
“That’s a relief.” Roslyn opened her compact and studied her reflection in the mirror. Makeup had disguised the dark shadows under her eyes, lifted her cheekbones, and brightened her otherwise dull complexion with a soft peachy glow. Not too bad for no sleep. Her cell phone buzzed. Chrisla, if you’re running late . . . But a quick check of the caller ID told her it wasn’t her sister. Unless she was calling from an unrecognizable number.
Roslyn pressed the answer button. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Colepepper, this is Wayne Grant from the Detroit News. I’m calling to see if you would be interested in doing a feature story with us.” He went on to explain how he’d been assigned to her daughter’s disappearance and how he was aware this Labor Day weekend marked fifteen years since her abduction.
She pretended to remember him when he mentioned how he had covered the events from the news van outside her house, but numerous reporters, from all the media venues, had covered the story. At that time, she’d been too shaken up to talk with any of them. Brandon had given the statements.
“Mr. Grant,” Roslyn said, interrupting his spiel about being with the paper twenty-five years. “Assuming you’d like to do a story on the Adriana Hope Foundation, let me direct you to my secretary. She will be happy to send you press release information and provide you with everything you need.”
“Mrs. Colepepper, I’m aware of your foundation and the great strides you’ve made helping to recover missing children, but I want to do a story on Adriana. I believe I can help prove your daughter wasn’t in the car at the time it went off the bridge.”
Roslyn clutched her chest and pressed the phone closer to her ear as the reporter went on to explain various forensic advancements over the last fifteen years and how 3-D computerized models have proven beneficial. “. . . and more importantly, Mrs. Colepepper, I believe if your daughter is alive, my article will help bring her home.”
Chapter 15
Posen, Michigan
Present day
The morning after her parents’ accident, the rooster crowed twice before Faith summoned enough energy to finally open her dry, scratchy, and weighted eyes. She lay still, blinking. Her eyes—dry,scratchy, and weighted as if with sand—were hard to focus. After a moment, she pushed back the quilt and swung her legs off to one side of the bed, but didn’t immediately bounce to her feet to start the day. Her shoulders dropped. This was the time of the morning when she’d hear Daed’s footsteps clambering down the stairs. The screen door would creak open and snap closed, and he would be on his way to the barn to start the morning chores. Mamm would already be up, stoking the wood stove to cook breakfast. The synchronized rhythm of their family routine triggered a smile. She glanced at Olivia’s empty bed adjacent to hers, then sprang to her feet.
Churning through a long to-do list in her mind, she slipped into her beige dress, brushed her waist-long hair, then pinned the thick fluffy strands into a bun at the back of her neck. Most days she spent more time making herself presentable, but Catherine would be here shor
tly to pick her up for work and Faith didn’t want to keep her waiting.
Downstairs in the vacant kitchen, she longed for a hot cup of coffee to jump-start her morning, but decided against taking time to prepare a pot. Besides, she couldn’t possibly drink all of it.
She donned boots and lumbered to the barn. Finding the door unlatched, she hesitated a moment. The only buggy in the drive was Gideon’s, which had sat there all night. She yanked open the door and went inside. The milking parlor was empty. She continued into the main section, stopping short when she came upon Gideon bent over the grain barrel, scooping feed into a tin can.
She cleared her throat, and he shot upright, dropping the grain can back into the barrel. Faith stifled a giggle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She’d never seen him this surprised. He was certainly handsome, even temporarily frozen in fear.
“I didn’t hear you kumm in.” He furrowed his brows. “I’m glad I was able to start your day off with a gut laugh.” He leaned into the barrel mumbling something unrecognizable.
She cleared her throat in attempt to gain control. “Should we start over?” Not wanting to come across as mocking him, she added, “Guder mariye, Gideon.”
“Mariye,” he grumbled, dipping his body halfway into the barrel.
She leaned closer to the barrel but drew back as he resurfaced with the can of feed. He must not have slept well. “What time did you get up?”
Gideon shrugged. “Before the rooster crowed.”
“Danki for coming so early to help; I appreciate it.” She went to the storage shelves mounted on the back wall where the feed buckets and milking pails were stored.
He came up behind her. “I’ve already milked the cows and fed the hogs.”
She smiled. “You were up early to get all that done.”
“I wasn’t sure what time you needed to go into work,” he replied. “Bay’s leg is better. I’ll be able to drive you to work.”
“Danki, but it isn’t necessary. Last nacht I made arrangements with Catherine to pick me up. I thought I mentioned it to you.”