by Diane Burke
He cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Let’s get this thing started. We have twenty-four hours to make it happen.”
“No. We have sixteen hours,” Captain Rogers corrected. “Both of us need sleep. I don’t want to see your face for at least eight hours. That’s an order.”
Sam nodded. “Understood, Captain. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to take Sarah home.”
Home.
A place she couldn’t remember, but just the word made her long to get there. She tried hard to conjure up a mental image. What did the house look like? Did they have a barn? Horses? Cattle? Were they farmers tending fields of grain, or did their fields contain rows of corn? With all that had happened, would the Amish community still gather for celebration and praise? Or would the death of the bishop’s son change everything?
Once Sarah saw the house and the farm, would it help refresh her memory? She held current memories of many faces that had come to visit her during this ordeal. They had claimed to be her friends. Would she be able to rekindle those relationships once she returned home? She hoped so. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so lost and alone anymore.
In twenty-four hours, she would know the answer to all the questions tumbling around in her head. Somehow the thought of returning to a place where she had once forged roots, a place where she had once belonged to a community and a family, was strangely comforting...and oh so terrifying.
SEVEN
Sarah glanced down at her clothing. Gone was the print hospital gown. She wore a black apron that covered a good portion of the light blue dress beneath it. The dress draped her body loosely, fell slightly below her knees and brushed against her black opaque stockings. She smoothed her hand across the material.
Because of the many visitors she had had over the past week, Sarah knew this was typical Amish garb. So why didn’t it feel familiar? Why couldn’t she picture in her mind another time and place where she might have been dressed this way?
“Is something wrong?” Rebecca’s heavily lined face wore a quizzical expression. “Are you feeling ill? Is this task too difficult for you right now?” Before Sarah could reply, Rebecca hurried forward. “Here, let me help you with your shoes.”
“Thank you, but I can put on my shoes.” But when Sarah bent down for the shoes, her head spun, and pain seized the left side of her temple.
Rebecca leaned over and retrieved the shoes. “You are not yet fully recovered. You are going to need some help with things you used to do for yourself. Do not let pride make you stumble before the Lord.”
Sarah accepted the chiding with a respectful nod. But was it pride? Or a fierce determination to get better as quickly as possible and regain her independence?
A knock on the door drew their attention.
Sarah’s heartbeat skipped when Samuel poked his head inside. She hadn’t seen him for more than a moment or two since yesterday. He’d been making arrangements for her safety after she left the hospital. She’d missed him—and that thought surprised and unsettled her.
Samuel nodded a polite greeting to Rebecca as he entered, and then froze. The intensity of his gaze as his eyes roamed over her Amish clothing made her self-conscious. She smoothed her apron and wondered if some piece of clothing looked silly or out of place.
Rebecca coughed, breaking Samuel out of his reverie.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I apologize for staring.” He smiled at Sarah. “It is a surprise to see you out of hospital gowns. You look—” he seemed to search for the proper word “—healthy.” His smile widened. “You look like you’re ready to get out of here and go home.”
Sarah smiled in return. “That I am.”
Dr. Clark had told her that familiar surroundings might help her regain some of her memory. Sarah was counting on it with an anticipation so intense she found it almost hard to breathe.
“Are you ladies ready?”
“Almost.” Rebecca slipped the white kapp that had been lying on the nightstand on top of Sarah’s bandages. It was a tight squeeze, but she got it placed properly. She tilted Sarah’s face up. “We are ready now, ya?”
Sarah squeezed Rebecca’s hand. She had grown fond of the woman, grateful that she came every day regardless of how difficult it must be for her. It didn’t take black clothes to show that Rebecca was grieving. All someone had to do was look at the pain and fatigue evident in her eyes, body language and facial expressions. Yet still she came, every day, and sat beside her and told her stories of the farm, and occasionally stories of the life she’d shared with Peter.
Sarah learned they had not only known each other since childhood but had been good friends, which was a bit unusual in the Amish community, since boys and girls often had separate activities and chores. But Sarah had been a bit of a tomboy as a child. She loved to climb trees and play baseball and fish. Rebecca’s eyes would light up when she’d tell Sarah tales of her escapades—the catfish she’d caught that weighed more than any of the boys’ and the tale of her broken arm when she’d been spying on the boys swimming and had fallen out of the large oak tree on the back of their property by the pond.
“You always pushed boundaries. I had to practically tie you down when it came time to teach you how to cook and sew.” Rebecca actually smiled for the very first time since this nightmare began.
“Why didn’t my mother teach me those things? Why did it fall on your shoulders?”
A dark cloud passed over Rebecca’s expression, but she quickly recovered. “That is another conversation for another day, ya? Right now I think it is best to get home.”
Sarah held her tongue, but she couldn’t help wondering why Rebecca seemed reluctant to talk about her mother. Was there some dark secret no one had told her about? And if Rebecca was hiding behind secrets, how could she be sure that what she told her about Peter and their marriage was the truth?
Before Sarah could question the older woman more, a nurse entered the room pushing a wheelchair. “These are your discharge instructions. Your medications are listed. So are signs and symptoms that you should report immediately to Dr. Clark if they occur.”
Sam took the papers from the nurse’s hand. “Thank you. We will go over these with a fine-tooth comb once we get home.” He folded them and tucked them inside his jacket. “Sarah won’t be needing the wheelchair. You can take it out with you.”
“It’s hospital policy that every patient is wheeled safely to the curb,” the nurse insisted.
“Her safety is exactly the reason we can’t afford to have her leave in a wheelchair.” Sam shifted his attention to Sarah. “I was afraid the news media would catch hold of this story. After the hospital lockdown and the two murders, they have. National news crews have been camped outside all night, hoping for a picture for the tabloids or a few quotes for their papers. They’ve been trying to locate your room and slip in to see you. You wouldn’t believe how creative and sneaky some of them have been. Hospital security has had their hands full. If we push you outside in a wheelchair, they’ll descend on us like vultures.”
“So what must we do?” Rebecca twisted her hands together and looked at Sam with concern on her face. “Sarah is not strong enough for such attention.”
Sam looked at Sarah with a steady gaze. “Are you strong enough to walk out of here if I help you?”
Her stomach flipped under his scrutiny. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to please him. She just wasn’t sure she could. “I think so but...” She lowered her voice and her eyes. “I’m willing to try, but I’m not sure I can.”
“That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you to give it a try. Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
My girl? Had he just said that to her?
He turned to Rebecca. “Do you have any extra Amish clothes with you? Perhaps a kapp, and possibly a shawl?”
“Yes
,” Rebecca replied. “I have some extra clothes with me. I have been sleeping in one of those fancy chairs that tilt back. Jacob brought me a bag from home so I could change and freshen up in the public bathrooms.”
“Good.” Sam grinned at the nurse. “I think you will look lovely in a white kapp, don’t you?”
The nurse stammered and sputtered a weak protest as she realized he intended to put her in the wheelchair. She glanced at the two Amish women. Their faces were pale with fright and concern. She looked back at Sam and smiled. “Why not? I love pranks. This should be fun. Maybe I’ll even make it on national TV.”
Sam gently cupped Sarah’s elbow, and the heat of his touch sent waves of tingles through her body. When he spoke, his voice was warm and tender. “How do you feel? Are you able to do this?” His eyes locked with hers, and she thought she’d drown in their darkness. “Am I asking too much of you? If you can’t do the walking, we will use the wheelchair. We’ll try to camouflage your exit.”
Her pulse beat like war drums against the soft tissue of her wrist. She wasn’t sure if it was the result of her anxiety about evading the press and going home, or whether it was a reaction to the strong, masculine presence of the man standing beside her. The man who had been kind and supportive and...and almost irresistibly attractive from the moment she’d opened her eyes.
“How far must we go?”
“Not far. We’ll take the elevator to the basement and slip out the morgue entrance. I will be with you every step of the way.”
Rebecca clasped Sarah’s other arm. “So will I, child. God will be with us too.” Rebecca handed a kapp and shawl to the nurse. “I hope these will help.”
Sam asked an officer to push the disguised nurse in the wheelchair through the front entrance while they headed toward the elevators.
Just as the three of them were about to make their exit, the door opened again.
“Jacob.” Rebecca looked at her husband in surprise. “What has happened? Why are you here?”
“You are my wife. Sarah is my daughter-in-law. You need me. Where else would I be?”
Although there was no physical contact between them, there was a sense of intimacy. They obviously loved each other and it showed...in the kindness of their words...in the gaze of their eyes...in the gentleness of their voices. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if this was what her relationship with their son, Peter, had been like.
A deep sadness flowed over her that she felt no feelings for Peter. Neither good nor bad. She couldn’t even draw his image into her memory. The Amish did not approve of pictures, so Rebecca was unable to show her a wedding photo or any other.
Sarah glanced at Samuel. There was kindness and gentleness and something else with this man. She felt more fondness for this stranger than she did for the man who had been her husband. It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, not the way she wanted it to be. And it troubled her greatly.
Almost as if he could read her mind, Sam seemed to assess both the change in the atmosphere of the room and its possible reason. Instantly, he took charge.
“Come.” He spoke with authority. “We have to slip out before the press realizes that isn’t Sarah we sent out front.”
Without a word, they hurried from the room. They rode the elevator in silence. Sam exited first, checked that the corridor was empty then summoned them to follow.
Sarah knew he shortened his steps to keep pace with hers. She moved as quickly as she could down the long, empty corridor, but her rubbery legs had no strength. She feared they would crumple beneath her at any moment. Her heart beat in her chest like a runaway horse, and for the first time in many days, fear threatened to claim her composure.
Sam had arranged for a driver to be waiting for them at the morgue loading dock. The four exited the building and crossed the dock with synchronized movements to the steps to the parking lot.
Beads of sweat broke out on Sarah’s forehead. She felt as if the blood had drained from her face, leaving her light-headed and dizzy. Her chest hurt, and suddenly it became difficult to breathe.
“Wait! Please.” She began dragging her feet. “I can’t...I can’t breathe.” Her hand flew to her chest, and she gulped for air.
Jacob and Rebecca had reached the car, and they turned to see what delayed them. Sam gestured them on. “It’s okay. Get in the car. We’ll be there in a second.”
Sam faced Sarah. He clasped both her forearms in his hands and locked his gaze with hers. “Sarah?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. My chest...it hurts...and I...I can’t breathe.”
“Listen to me. You’re having a panic attack. Dr. Clark warned me that you might, once you left the hospital and the stress hit you.” He locked his gaze with hers, the intensity of his stare mesmerizing her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He drew her closer, almost as if he could transfer his strength to her. “You can do this. But you have to trust me.”
“There they are! On the loading dock!”
Sam and Sarah looked in the direction of the voices. Two women, each holding a microphone in hand, raced toward them. A couple of men carrying cameras sprinted behind the women.
“We have to get out of here,” Sam said.
Sarah’s legs trembled as if they were made of gelatin instead of flesh and bone. “I can’t.” Certain her legs would no longer support her weight, she leaned heavily against his chest. “I’m sorry, Samuel.”
Without hesitation, he scooped her off her feet.
She could feel his muscled strength supporting her legs and back as he carried her to the car. She clenched his shirt, its softness rubbing against her cheek. The clean scent of fresh linen mingled with the appealing, warm scent of his skin as she clung to him, and for a crazy moment in time she had no desire to release her grasp.
By the time they’d reached the first step, her heartbeat had slowed and her breathing returned to normal. Raising her eyes to meet Samuel’s, Sarah knew that everything would be okay. God would protect her...and He would use Samuel to do it. Peace and gratitude replaced the terror that had been flowing through her veins just moments before. She smiled up at the man who held her in his arms.
“Take me home, Samuel. Please, I just want to go home.”
EIGHT
It was early evening when they arrived at the house. Looming in the shadows of twilight, the two-story white clapboard house looked much like many of the others they’d passed along the way. A large red barn loomed to the left. They passed a multitude of fenced areas. In the distance, two horses grazed in the meadow.
Once the driver stopped the car, Jacob got out and hurried ahead to ready the house. Sam came around and helped both Rebecca and Sarah out of the vehicle.
Sarah stood for a second and looked around the property. She breathed in the heavy smells of fertile earth, manure and animals common to a working farm. She climbed the steps to the front porch, all the while trying to retrieve memories of times past, but none came.
Jacob met them just inside the door. Several kerosene lamps bathed the home in a warm, soft glow. “It is gut to have you home, Sarah.” He helped Rebecca take off her coat and then helped Sarah with hers.
“I will make us some hot tea.” Rebecca crossed to the propane-powered stove and put the kettle on.
Sarah glanced around the living room. She noted a sofa, several chairs and scattered tables, but the focal point of the room was an impressive stone fireplace.
“Please, sit. Rest.” Jacob gestured toward the kitchen table. “I have to bring in my horses. I will be back shortly.”
“Do you need help?” Sam offered.
“Danki, no. Sit. Rest. It was a long trip, and I believe you have gotten little sleep in the past weeks.”
Rebecca placed hot tea and a plate of fresh, homemade cookies in the middle of the table.
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The scent of chamomile and chocolate chips teased Sarah’s nostrils and made her realize she had barely touched her dinner.
“There’s nothing better to ward off a night’s chill than a hot cup of tea and a sweet treat. Come, both of you. Sit. Eat,” Rebecca said.
“Danki,” Sam answered in the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, his tone light and friendly. He bit into a cookie. “Gut. Did you know the Englisch have a saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? These cookies are probably what prompted the saying.”
A smile teased the corner of Sarah’s mouth when she saw the blush of pleasure stain Rebecca’s cheeks. What do you know? She wasn’t the only one to succumb to this man’s charm.
Rebecca, mindful of Sarah’s arm in a sling and her frail health, poured her a cup of tea and placed two cookies on a small plate in front of her.
The three of them sat in companionable silence, enjoying the quiet and the treat, comfortable enough with each other not to feel obligated to fill the silence with idle conversation.
Sarah felt at home amidst the simple, plain surroundings, even though she had no concrete memories of ever being here before. But it only took a glance outside, now that twilight had ebbed to darkness, to remind her that until this man was caught, she would have no safe haven.
The back door opened, and Rebecca waved her husband inside.
“Come, Jacob. Sit. The tea grows cold.”
Jacob took a seat and grinned. “I’m coming, lieb. I already know the secret that I am sure Samuel has just discovered. A bite of your cookies on a person’s lips is a moment of pure joy.”
Rebecca’s blush deepened, and she placed an extra cookie in front of her husband.