Plain Threats

by Alison Stone

  “But I suppose I remember them as the youth they were.”

  “My mother did die young. I was only ten. My father died when I was seventeen.”

  The bishop cleared his throat, as if the subject was too uncomfortable. “Now you believe you want to return to your Amish roots?”

  “I have been thinking about it for a long time now. Even before I met Rebecca.” The peace he felt in her presence, on her farm, had made the feelings he had buried come to the surface. “I have to continue to pray on it.”

  “Come with me.” The bishop limped with his cane toward the barn door. “I have some information regarding baptismal classes in the house.”

  Jake followed him and waited outside on the porch for the older gentleman to return. When he did, the bishop handed him a book.

  “Whatever you decide, you cannot make this decision lightly.”

  * * *

  Yet another rainy day saturated the fields in Apple Creek. Rebecca was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to let up. She sat in the rocker while enjoying a cup of tea and watched Katie and Grace, a luxurious break she rarely afforded herself.

  A rumble of thunder rolled over the house and a chill skittered down her spine. Rebecca grabbed two small quilts off the wood stand and put one on each girl’s lap. Katie was reading a Laura Ingalls Wilder book to her little sister. “Are you girls okay?”

  Katie put her finger on the page to mark her spot and looked up.

  “The storm doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  They shook their heads in unison. “There’s no reason to be afraid,” Katie said, sounding older than her eight years. “We’re all snug like bugs in our house. Do you know we have a house like in Little House on the Prairie?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Rebecca’s mouth. She had loved those books and had feared she might never be able to share them with her girls because Willard had been against most every book. She shook away the thought, unwilling to let the past ruin their cozy afternoon.

  Another thunderclap rocked the house.

  Rebecca looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “Buttercup’s not a fan of storms.” Her gaze dropped to her daughters snuggled up in the corner of the room. “I’m going to run out to the barn and make sure she’s okay. You girls keep reading your book.”

  “Can I go with you? I can give her carrots.” Grace jumped up, the quilt pooling around her feet.

  “Oh, but it’s yucky out. Why don’t you stay inside with your big sister? Keep each other company.”

  With a huff, Grace plopped down on the rocker her mother had vacated. Rebecca picked up the quilt and tucked it around her daughter, ignoring her little tantrum. “I’ll be back in soon and then I’ll warm up some soup for dinner. Okay?”

  Rebecca put on her raincoat, flipped up the hood and grabbed a few carrots to put in her pocket. She opened the back door and hustled down the back steps. Her boots squished in the mud as she crossed the yard to the barn.

  When will this rain ever stop?

  Squinting against the pelting rain, she picked up speed. She clutched her hood to prevent a gust of wind from blowing it down.

  When she reached the barn and pushed back the door, another rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. Goose bumps prickled her skin. Sensing someone was watching her, she glanced behind her. Nothing but fields.

  A truck barreled down the country road.

  Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she entered the dimly lit barn and pulled a carrot out of her pocket.

  “Hey, Buttercup. Everything’s okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “The storm will pass quickly.” A part of her felt as if she was trying to convince herself.

  The storm in her life would pass quickly. Reaching through the wide spaces in the bars of the stall, she patted the horse. Buttercup neighed. “You’ve been through a lot, too, huh?”

  Buttercup eagerly ate the carrot and then sniffed Rebecca’s hand, eager for more. She reached into her pocket and found another carrot. “Here you go.”

  She rubbed the side of the horse’s head until she seemed to calm down. She decided to find a blanket for Buttercup, to comfort her.

  She walked to the back of the barn and past a door yawning open to the back fields. Something blue flashed in her periphery and then disappeared behind the outbuilding where Willard had kept a stash of weapons. She often wondered what he had been planning if he hadn’t been caught. She hadn’t been in the building since before Willard’s arrest.

  Biting her lower lip, she wondered if she had imagined the movement.

  She returned to Buttercup, covered her with a blanket and patted her. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  Rebecca grabbed the pitchfork and measured the weight of it in her hands. With a fluttery feeling in her chest, she strode out of the barn, glancing toward the house. Her daughters were in there. They were safe. She’d never be able to relax unless she checked the outbuilding and made sure someone wasn’t trespassing on her property.

  Pulling her hood back over her head, she held her raincoat close at her neck and gripped the pitchfork tightly in the other hand. She’d never be able to use it as a weapon, but what the potential trespasser didn’t know might save her.

  A long time ago, she had ceased being a quiet Amish wife. She had to be the head of this household. Protect her family.

  You’re seeing things, silly woman. Willard’s voice clashed with the wind and rain and a dull roar of thunder moving off to the east.

  Each step seemed harder to take, but she knew if she stopped she’d lose her nerve. When she reached the outbuilding, she pressed her body against the wall and peered toward the open door.

  Was someone in there?

  A rustle of plastic sounded overhead. She glanced up just in time to see a huge blue tarp dropping out of the sky. She raised her hands to fling it away when something heavy landed on top of her, shoving her down into the wet mud. Her pitchfork useless by her side.

  Dear Lord, help me.

  THIRTEEN

  Jake placed the book on the passenger seat of his truck and made a spontaneous decision to drive over to check on Rebecca and the girls. He knew the bishop had seen to it that she had some help with the farm now that Uri and Jonas were prohibited from working for her. But there were always things to be done.

  He knew Rebecca wanted him to stay away because their future was predetermined due to their different backgrounds. He tapped the book on the seat next to him. Nervous indecision pressed on his chest. Maybe...just maybe he could change that.

  As Jake rounded the curve on the country road, the clouds had turned an ominous steely gray. He adjusted the windshield wiper speed to keep pace with the driving rain. A rumble of thunder sounded overhead. When he turned up Rebecca’s driveway, her quaint home came into view beyond his blurry windshield. He really needed to replace his wipers.

  Jake climbed out of the vehicle, flipped up his hood and shuddered against the cool rain. Bent forward, he jogged toward the house. He lifted his hand to knock when he heard a cry in the distance. He spun around and squinted toward the sound. Katie and Grace were holding hands, dodging mud puddles and running toward the barn.

  Unease twisted around his spine.

  Where was their mother?

  Perhaps she had been in front of the girls and had reached the barn before the strange muffled cry rang out. What was that? Not wanting to waste another moment, he ran after them, muttering his annoyance when his dress shoes sank in the mud with each step.

  He also really needed to get some boots.

  He caught up with the girls inside the barn’s entrance. Katie had her arm around Grace, comforting her. He glanced around the barn. No Rebecca.

  “Girls, what are you doing out in this weather? Your mother will be worried about you.”

  The girls turned around as a unit. Grace had red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, both from the rain and tears. His heart stuttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  �
�Mem came out to the barn to check on Buttercup and—” Katie sniffed “—and she didn’t come back.” Katie squeezed her sister’s shoulders. “I thought she couldn’t get Buttercup to settle down and that’s why it was taking a long time.” The corners of her mouth tugged down in a heartbreaking display of emotion. “She’s gone.”

  Tamping down his growing unease, Jake crouched down to the girls’ level. “Are you sure she’s not in the house?”

  “Neh, we came from the house.”

  Grace’s big eyes canvased the barn. “She’s missing. Maybe she’s gone like our big brother.”

  Jake gently touched Grace’s arm. “Your mem wouldn’t leave you.”

  “After our dat went away,” Katie joined in, “Samuel promised us he would never leave. But he did.”

  A knot formed in Jake’s stomach. These poor children had experienced much loss in their young lives.

  Jake surreptitiously scanned the barn behind the girls, looking for any signs of mischief. “Your mem came out here to check on Buttercup?”

  Grace nodded and her chest rose and fell on a sob. “Buttercup doesn’t like thunder.”

  As if on cue, the horse neighed her annoyance at a distant rumble of thunder. Jake strolled over to the horse’s stall with the girls and let them pet her. “Buttercup’s fine.”

  His pulse ticked in his ears, like time slipping away. But he didn’t want to jump to conclusions or to alarm the girls. “Let me get you both inside, then I’ll come back out and find your mom.”

  “Where can Mem be?” Katie asked. The slightly older girl easily slipped into the role of big sister, protector. But even she had a hitch in her voice.

  Grace broke away from her big sister and clung to Jake. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay.” A drip of rain plopped down onto her bonnet from a leak in the barn roof. He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s get you inside where it’s dry.”

  Grace took his hand. The feel of the little girl’s cool hand in his caught him off guard. His parents had never been affectionate. It was not a common trait of the Amish. Yet Grace must have been frightened enough to reach up and take his hand. He smiled down and gently squeezed her hand. “Everything will be okay.”

  Grace nodded.

  Katie marched ahead and when they stepped outside the barn, he noticed the rain had turned from a torrential downpour to a gentle shower. In the distance against the gunmetal sky, a streak of lightning flashed. He noticed Katie quietly counting under her breath. Then a crash of thunder. Grace startled next to him.

  “Seven,” Katie said confidently. “The storm is seven miles away. We’re okay.”

  Jake reached out with his free hand and gently touched Katie’s shoulder. “Yes, we are. Let’s hurry inside so you don’t get too wet.”

  They pounded up the steps of the porch. The front door stood open and, instinctively, Jake moved the girls behind him.

  “Did you girls leave the door open?”

  Grace shrugged and Katie looked a little sheepish.

  Jake stepped into the room, holding the girls back. He called out for Rebecca, but he was met with only the soft sound of rain on the roof.

  “No, Professor, she’s outside. I told you,” Katie said, her voice edged with youthful exasperation.

  “I know, honey. The door was open. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t returned while we were in the barn.”

  Jake made the girls sit in the rockers in the front room while he quickly checked all the rooms in the house, calling Rebecca’s name while he did.

  As the seconds ticked away, his unease amped up.

  Something was wrong.

  “Katie, follow me to the door.” When she did, he turned and said, “Lock it behind me. I’ll be right back with your mem.”

  She nodded. Jake paused on the porch while he listened for the snap of the bolt. He pulled his hood up, stood at the edge of the porch and scanned the yard.

  “Rebecca,” he called, cupping his mouth. “Rebecca.”

  His mouth grew dry.

  No answer.

  The wind kicked up and blew leaves across the yard, some settling against the grate protecting the underside of the porch.

  Jake stepped off the porch and ran toward the barn.

  Where are you, Rebecca? Where are you?

  * * *

  Planting her palms into the cold, wet mud, Rebecca pushed herself up. The blue tarp crinkled in the wind and the distinct smell of plastic mixed with the earthy scent of mud tickled her nose. She braced herself, fearing whoever had thrown this down over her would jump on top of her to finish her off.

  Fear tingled her scalp.

  Maybe the wind had blown the tarp down on her. Maybe her imagination was getting the best of her.

  Yet the tarp felt weighted at the corners.

  Pulse whooshing in her ears, she held out her arm and yanked back a side of the stiff tarp, finally untangling herself from this mess. A cool breeze caressed her damp cheeks as she squinted up at the darkening sky. The shadow of the outbuilding hunkered over her like an ominous threat.

  “Is someone there?” Her soft voice shook, barely audible over the stiff winds.

  A solid thud and a groan sounded from around the back of the building. Gathering the folds of her dress, she pushed to her feet. She picked up the pitchfork. Pressing against the rough wood of the poorly cared for shed, she shuffled toward the edge, afraid of being detected.

  Someone was running across the field. Away from her.

  She stood paralyzed, flat against the building. Her grip tightened on the tool.

  Was it one of the Yoder brothers?

  She couldn’t be sure. All she could see was a dark form growing smaller across the field.

  A deep voice carried on the wind. Was someone calling her?

  “Rebecca.”

  Glancing toward the barn, she realized the house was out of view, but at least whoever had thrown the tarp on her was running away from the house.

  Her girls should be safe.

  A tingling started in her fingers and worked its way up her arms. She had to check on them to be sure.

  As she stepped away from the shed, she noticed its door yawned open. All her senses went on high alert. The glass on the bottom pane closest to the door handle was broken.

  Willard used to keep the outbuilding’s door locked. The building was little more than an oversize shed. He’d kept weapons in there. A million memories swirled in her head. Willard’s angry voice to stay away from his stuff scraped across her brain.

  Willard’s gone. He can’t hurt me.

  Holding her breath, Rebecca pushed the door all the way open. It creaked on its hinges and bounced off a nearby table. Goose bumps raced across her flesh as she stepped into the small structure. The unkempt ten-by-ten space was empty save for branches hanging from the ceiling.

  The marijuana? She reached up and touched the drying leaves. A pain started behind her eyes.

  How could this be?

  Rebecca lifted her hand to her temples and rubbed.

  “Rebecca!” The familiar sound of Jake’s voice made her spin around.

  “I’m here.” She ran toward the door and tripped on the lip of the doorway. She caught herself on the doorframe.

  Jake came into view and the look of relief on his face caught her off guard and secretly thrilled her. He gripped her shoulders and angled his head. “What happened to you?” He stared at the pitchfork.

  Rebecca leaned it against the wall.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She searched frantically behind him, looking toward the main house. “Are the girls okay?”

  “Yes, yes. They’re fine. I saw them before I came looking for you. Now tell me. What happened?”

  Rebecca pointed up, to the roof of the outbuilding. “Someone threw a tarp down on me. And then he took off. Over there.” She pointed across the field.

  Jake squinted in the direction she pointed. “I don’t see anyone.”


  “I’m afraid he’s gotten away.”

  Jake turned his attention back to Rebecca. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. When his thumb came away with dirt, she stepped back and swiped at her face, heat reddening her cheeks. “I landed face-first in the dirt.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She stepped out of the doorway and raised her palm to the contents inside. “Look at this. Tell me what this means.”

  Jake slipped past her and took in the scene.

  “I thought the police destroyed the drugs,” she whispered.

  “Whoever knocked you out must have grabbed a few plants before they escaped.”

  “Why are they hanging the plants?”

  “I don’t know much about marijuana, but I imagine they needed to dry it out and cure it. To get it ready to sell.” Jake touched one of the leaves. “It seems too damp in here.”

  “They probably were trying to put the tarp on the roof to stop it from leaking.” A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

  He smiled, mirroring her, but one of his brows pulled down at the corner as if her sudden change in mood had confused him. He wiped what she suspected was another spot of mud from her cheek. “You are a mysterious woman, Rebecca. Why are you smiling?”

  “Don’t you see? This—” she held her palm up to the shed that had seen better days “—this proves my son is innocent. Samuel’s near Rochester. He couldn’t have been responsible for this. He’s innocent.”

  FOURTEEN

  The hope in Rebecca’s eyes crushed Jake. He wanted nothing more than to reassure her. To tell her that Samuel was innocent.

  What did this incident really mean? Leaning over, he dragged the damp tarp away from the building and saw nothing other than an uneven muddy patch. He held out his hand to the dirt staining the front of her dress. “This is where you fell?”

  Rebecca brushed at her dress but it only served to rub it in. “Yes. I didn’t see the man until he was running away.” A look of disgust flickered across her face. Jake turned and squinted up at the roof of the small outbuilding.

  A gust of wind whipped up and brought with it more rain.