“Nein, I have never seen him before.”
“I’ve been investigating for several months, and I don’t think I’m any closer to the truth than I was when I started, except that I know there is smuggling of identity documents through Northern Indiana and now we have the counterfeit social security card you found. But a good smuggling ring usually takes several people to operate smoothly. And this ring is good.”
“Gott reveals truth in His timing and when it suits His purposes.”
God? She had just been attacked by a violent man, and she was talking of God’s purposes? Her calmness in the face of danger floored him. But the memory of his Amish grandparents and their peacefulness struck him, sending goose bumps along his arms. Their steadfast trust in God and the calm that it brought to their lives and their home was something he hadn’t fully appreciated as a child. Now, though? Now he could use an extra portion of peace and calm.
* * *
Katie’s leg throbbed, but she refused to give in to complaining or grumbling. That bad attitude hadn’t worked well for the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for forty years, and she was determined to learn from their mistakes. Still, though, a little painkiller would help.
She pushed herself to the edge of the chair, her palms on the armrests, prepared to push herself up. The acetaminophen was in a kitchen cabinet, and as kind as the ICE agent had been, she didn’t want to ask him for anything more. But before she could push herself to standing, he was there, holding out his arm to steady her and help lift her up.
“Going somewhere?” He smiled down at her, crinkles around his light brown eyes, the flecks of gold glittering in the lamplight.
But the smile didn’t quite reach to his whole face. He was trying to cheer her up, to get her to forget about the danger, to not be scared. Warmth seeped through her at his thoughtfulness, but it was tinged with the chill of fright at who might be lurking outside her door.
“Jah, to the kitchen. Mein acetaminophen are in a cupboard, and I will make us some tea. Chamomile is soothing, which helps with anxiety. And it is anti-inflammatory, which helps with injuries, as well as aches and pains.” And with the tea, she would retrieve her brother’s note out of her kapp and show it to the special agent.
“Then make us a gallon.” He grinned as she reached for his arm.
With his help on one side and the cane on the other, she made it to the kitchen. There she released his arm, and he moved to straighten the kitchen table and remaining chairs. She rummaged around in the end cabinet, moving aside various odds and ends before producing a small bottle. One step to the side brought her to the sink, where she filled a glass with water. As she popped two tablets in her mouth and swallowed, she caught Adam’s surprised expression.
“What is it?”
“I have never seen my grandparents take pain pills or even vitamins or any kind of supplement. Granted it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. And they were—are—very conservative, even for being Amish. I just didn’t think Amish took any kind of medication.”
“Your grandparents are Amish?” That was an interesting bit of information she would tuck away to examine later. A thousand thoughts pinged in her mind, but her throbbing leg overrode them.
“Yes.”
Katie put her glass on the counter and reached for the kettle. “Jah, some church districts are so conservative that they do not call the doctor. I am grateful that our district is not like that. If Gott has been so gut as to allow us to discover a way to relieve physical pain, then I am thankful.” She held the bottle out for him to peek inside the almost-full container. “I do not take it often, as you can see. But I have it just in case.”
She returned the bottle to the cabinet and then filled the kettle. Jah, she sought normalcy and comfort in the routine of making chamomile tea, her favorite. But it would take a lot more than tea for her to feel the least bit normal again. Her hands began to shake at the thought of an intruder in her home, a man who attacked both her and Adam, the agent who was spending his evening protecting her.
Gott, help me! Help mein bruder! A tear strayed down her cheek, but she quickly dashed at it with the back of her hand before Adam could see it.
The tea was put on hold, though, with the arrival of the sheriff and a deputy. As Adam stayed with her, the two men searched her yard and the surrounding area. Sheriff Moore examined the living room and kitchen while the deputy took her statement and Adam called his supervising agent.
“I wish we had more information, ma’am, but your attacker didn’t leave anything to go on.” The sheriff held his hat in his hands. “My deputy is on duty through the night, and I’ll have him drive by and walk around the yard several times, to keep an eye on you.”
“Danki, Sheriff. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll stay, as well,” Adam said, “in my SUV out front and patrol the perimeter every hour or so.”
The sheriff put his hand on her arm with the warmth of a father. “Try to get some rest.” He turned to Adam on his way out the door, his deputy following. “Call me if you need me.”
Adam walked them to the door, locking it behind them. The headlights of the sheriff’s vehicle flashed through the window as he turned onto the road.
“Now, why don’t you sit down and let me make the tea? I might need some instructions, but you need to rest.”
“Nein.” She limped to the propane stove and put the kettle on, ignoring the ache in her leg. The acetaminophen needed to do its work soon or she would be forced to sit down. “I do not want this injury and attack to slow me down or defeat me. Gott is good, and He will help me.” Without moving her feet, she reached to the cupboard to retrieve two mugs. “See? If I just bend and twist enough, I can get it done.”
Ten minutes later, she set two steaming mugs of chamomile tea on the table, along with a tin of sugar cookies. As Adam bit into his cookie, she retrieved the coded note from her prayer kapp and unfolded it on the table. She wasn’t sure, even now, that she wanted to show him the piece of paper. She certainly had not been comfortable showing the sheriff and his deputy. The Amish separation from the world and the community’s distrust of law enforcement had been taught and modeled through all her life. But surely her bruder had had a purpose in risking his life to give it to her. What did he want her to do with it? Right now the most she could manage was to trust this man who had saved her life.
His eyes widened as a myriad of emotions played across his face. He quickly finished his bite. “Where did you get that?”
“From mein bruder. He did not explain anything. Just pressed it into my hand before he ran out.”
Adam leaned over the paper, examining it as he chewed another cookie. “The numbers seem to be grouped into threes. Is it a secret message? A code of some kind? Is he trying to tell you something without being discovered by someone?”
Katie sipped her tea. Perhaps the chamomile would calm the erratic thumping of her heart. After months of no communication with her bruder, he reappeared and gave her this. It must have some meaning, and hope in a restored relationship blossomed within her chest before she could tamp it down. “Jah, I think so. I hope so.”
“It’s meaningless, though, until it’s deciphered. What is the code?”
“Ach, I do not remember. I have been so tossed around today that I cannot think straight. Mein bruder was always secretive, always coming up with different ways to communicate so no one else could understand, always reading about spies and their secret codes.” After the day she had had, she could puzzle over it all night and probably not have an answer in the morning.
“Of course.” He sipped his tea as he continued to examine the paper. “I’ll have the agency’s cryptographers take a look at it tomorrow. Right now, let me get a digital copy.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the piece of paper, then tapped a few more buttons on the phone. “It’s on its way. I’ll g
et the local guys on it as well, first thing in the morning. If it’s meaningful, we need to know sooner rather than later.”
She nodded and examined the note again. What are you trying to say, Timothy? Of course the law enforcement officers were intelligent. But her brother was also pretty bright. If they could decode the secret message, she would be impressed.
“What else can you tell me about Timothy? The more I know about him, the more information I have to figure this out.”
And get me out of harm’s way... He didn’t say it, but by the way his voice trailed off, she knew that’s what he meant.
“All I know is what I saw and what he said more than two months ago. It seemed he had changed some of his business practices, like using a different supplier for some of the hardware for his woodworking business. I saw a company name on a box, a company that the Amish do not usually do business with. One time I stopped by his workshop and saw a different man there with him. Timothy explained that the man was a new hire, but the man was not Amish. He was dressed in Amish clothes, and he had a beard like Amish men that covered his face. But he was wearing a baseball cap, pulled down low over an Englisch haircut. I tried to greet him, but he hurried away to the back of the workshop. Mein bruder was quick—too quick—to explain that his new hire worked best alone and was a little shy of strangers.”
“Did you get his name?” Adam stood to pull back the window shade slightly and peer outside. Seemingly satisfied, he sat again and selected another cookie from the tin.
“Nein. Now that I think on it, Timothy was rather hesitant to tell me anything at all. He spoke in that slow way he gets when he is trying to think what to say as he is talking.” She sipped her tea, that day and that meeting fresh in her mind. Her brother had seemed odd then, but it had never occurred to her that something was this wrong. If she had persisted then in finding the truth, could all of this danger and these attacks and the shooting have been avoided?
“Do you think he was lying?”
That very word, lying, made Katie sad, a bit of grief pinging in her midsection, but perhaps he had been. Still, she couldn’t tolerate the idea. “We are taught not to lie from the time we are small children. Lying is a sin.”
“Perhaps he feels so threatened that he thinks he must lie. He believes he has no other choice.”
“Ach, I cannot imagine that much danger.” With her hands hidden in her lap, though, she wrung them together. Was Timothy’s situation that bad? Most likely so, judging by the attacks she had suffered that very afternoon and night. Adam just didn’t want to scare her.
She appreciated the carefulness of the agent sitting across the table from her, but she could see the facts, as well. Her brother just didn’t come around anymore like he used to. He hadn’t attended church services in more than a month. He always had some excuse like illness, which she would see in a note he would leave for her now and then. Was he distancing himself deliberately from their Amish ways? It seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with her, but he was feeding her just enough information to make everything look normal so she wouldn’t question him or examine the situation any further.
Sleepiness began to overtake her, and she wrapped her hands around the warm mug. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed the lateness of the hour.
“You need to rest.” Apparently Adam had noticed her fatigue, as well.
“Jah, and wash and put on clean clothes.” A fresh change of garments always made her feel better. It was too bad that she couldn’t change her emotions as easily, from fear and trembling to confidence and calm. “What about the intruder? Will he come back?”
“The deputy will drive by, remember, and walk the yard. And I’ll be here, in my SUV out front and patrolling the perimeter every hour or so. Will that help you rest?”
The generosity and thoughtfulness of this Englischer surprised her. He would give up his sleep so that she could sleep? “Danki. And I will try to think some more on the secret code.”
“We’ll tackle that in the morning, at the sheriff’s office.”
But as she rinsed the mugs and put them in the sink, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would even survive the night.
FIVE
Adam had pulled all-nighters before, but usually with several cups of coffee. Why hadn’t he asked Katie to fill a thermos before she had turned in for the night and he had retreated to his SUV? He rubbed his eyes and walked the perimeter of the yard again as the sun rose, stopping to peer through the trees at a scampering noise that turned out to be a chipmunk. Despite his sleepiness, at least they were still safe, thanks in part to the vigilance of the deputy through the night. Perhaps Katie’s relief at getting some much-needed rest would override any upset that he had worn a path in her yard.
An hour later, he had had two cups of coffee and a helping of scrapple, a delicious Amish pork breakfast dish that summoned up pleasant childhood memories of his Amish grandparents. Two hours later, he was in the driver’s seat of his Tahoe, speeding back toward Jed and Sarah’s house so that Katie could check in on her twins. He hadn’t been sure it was a good idea to drop in, but the desperation of a mother to hug her children was difficult to reason with.
“Danki for returning to Sarah’s house. The sheriff’s office is not a place for children, is it? I will ask Sarah to keep Ruth and Rebekah a while longer.” Katie’s lilting voice filled the SUV as Adam checked all the mirrors.
So far, on this road, he hadn’t seen a single vehicle. “Yeah, that would be best. We need to concentrate on deciphering the secret message. And they would be safe with Jed and Sarah.” He didn’t add that they would be more safe there than with them, but Katie could probably guess the unsaid words.
She nodded and held her breath, as if she were afraid to say something.
He glanced at her profile as she stared out the windshield, biting her lip. If she knew something, he needed to know also. This was no time to be scared to speak. “Something on your mind?”
She exhaled and rotated toward him. “I was so tired last night, and overwhelmed by what all happened, that I was dozing off before I could ask you. With all the physical activity of yesterday—bicycling, running, getting injured—as well as the mental exhaustion of puzzling over mein bruder, all the police and then leaving my twins, I was worn out.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Jah, I am. My leg aches a little, but it will heal.”
“What did you want to ask?” Or did he not want to know? It sounded personal, and he’d guarded his private life and his background so much in his job as an ICE special agent that he wasn’t good at talking about anything except his work. Yet this beautiful Amish woman was so much more sincere and honest about herself than anyone he’d ever met that the prompting came out before he knew what he was saying.
“It is about your last name, Troyer. It has been puzzling me since that moment outside the cabin yesterday, when you introduced yourself. I know there are many who have names that were originally Amish even though the person is not Amish, but you said something about your grandparents. What is the connection?”
Adam glanced in the rearview mirror and scrubbed a hand over his face. She was clearly just curious, but he wished he didn’t have to talk about it. His family history was not one he was proud of. Yet one look at Katie and her wide blue eyes, and he knew he would answer anything she asked.
He shifted in his seat and hitched his grip on the steering wheel. That wasn’t a good position for a special agent—to be ready to tell all. He hadn’t known her long, but something about her wholesomeness and innocence had seeped into him, acting like a truth serum on his hardened outer shell. He liked to do his job and focus on that—seeking justice—not his painful past.
Apparently he had been silent too long, for she broke his contemplation with another question. “Should I not have asked?”
His throat seized, and he cleared
it, then grabbed the bottle of water that rested in the console. Perhaps if he shared his past, explained that they did have some common Amish ground, it might help Katie to remember whatever she needed to decipher the coded message from her brother.
“No, no, it’s fine.” He gulped again from the water bottle and then returned it to the cupholder. “My grandparents were Amish, so I inherited the name through my father.”
“Ach, I do remember now that you said that last night. Maybe I know them. Do they live nearby?” A smile lit her face.
“No, they’re several communities away, closer to the Michigan state line.”
“Do you see them often?”
The Tahoe crested a small hill, and Adam slowed to pass a horse and buggy. “My job keeps me too busy.” It was a weak excuse, but it was all he could offer at the moment. “I remember just a few visits to my grandparents in all of my childhood years. I think my father took my brother and me to visit because he felt guilty about leaving before his baptism and his complete rejection of the Amish faith. But then, after a visit...” Did he have to finish the sentence and tell her about the despicable behavior of his father? How he had longed, over the years, for more of the love and encouragement of his grandparents.
She placed her hand on his arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Why did he leave the church?”
“His running-around time.”
“Rumspringa? What happened?”
“He got in with the wrong crowd. Started drinking. It took him over. In his addiction, though, he was still functioning. Got married. Had me and my brother. But we were never a real family. We were what the shrinks like to call dysfunctional. Eventually my parents divorced. My mom disappeared. She had had enough, I guess, and I never heard from her again. Then both my dad and my brother were killed in a car accident while my dad was driving drunk.” He was unwilling to admit that he had struggled with alcohol, as well. He had overcome it, but the guilt of his poor choices still hung heavily on him. How could God love him, a sinner?
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