Piecing It All Together

by Leslie Gould

  After I knocked on the door, I waited and waited and waited. Finally, Arleta answered, with Ruthie Mae tucked in one arm.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for Joshua. I have some questions to ask him about Miriam.”

  “He’s out in the pasture with Vernon. A cow broke through the fence.”

  “I’ll go find them,” I said. “How are you and Ruthie doing?”

  “Just fine.”

  “Have you heard from Miriam?”

  She shook her head. “The deputy was out here asking about all of that. We didn’t have anything new to tell him.”

  “All right,” I said. “I just need to double-check with Joshua.”

  “Miriam’s an adult. She has a right to leave.”

  “But Deputy Rogers arrested Tommy Miller for kidnapping Miriam.”

  “Jah, but this time she left on her own, in Kenny’s car.”

  “Did you know she could drive?”

  Arleta shook her head.

  I had a million questions racing through my head. Why wasn’t Arleta more concerned about Miriam? And why was she being so passive?

  Arleta finally exhaled. “She needs to find her own way. I’ve tried with her, over and over, but I’m out of ideas.”

  Ruthie began to fuss.

  “Go talk with Joshua,” Arleta said. “He’s been sneaking around here like he doesn’t think I know he has a cell phone. It’s become obvious the last few days. You’re probably right about him knowing more than what he’s told us or the deputy.”

  The baby was crying now.

  “Thank you.” I turned to go, wishing I knew what else to say. Maybe Arleta was doing the best she could. I had no idea what all was going on in their family, but I did know what it was like to be a teenager whose parent had died and whose remaining parent seemed to move on effortlessly. My heart ached for Miriam.

  Once I reached the pasture, I climbed the fence. In the distance, I could see Joshua and Vernon.

  As I neared them, I called out, “Hallo.”

  Vernon turned his head and obviously saw me, but he turned back to his work without an acknowledgment. Joshua didn’t even turn his head.

  When I reached them, out of breath, I said, “Joshua, may I speak with you?”

  “What about?” Vernon, asked, his eyes still on the fence.

  “Miriam.”

  Vernon grunted. “Joshua, you finish this up while I get started on the milking. Come in as soon as you’re done.” Vernon handed Joshua the wire cutters and then started toward the barn, sticking along the fence line.

  Joshua knelt down.

  I stepped closer to him and kept my voice low. “Have you heard from Miriam?”

  When he didn’t answer, I said, “I’m concerned about her. She could end up in a dangerous situation.” Not to mention her baby. She needed prenatal care, as stress-free a living situation as possible, and good nutrition. “I’d like to help her, if I can.”

  When he didn’t answer, I asked again, “Have you heard from her?”

  Finally, he nodded.

  “Is she in Chicago?”

  He nodded again.

  “Do you know where?”

  He stood and took his phone from his pocket. Then he opened his Find My Friends app and held it up for me. The orange dot was in Chicago, on the east side.

  “Do you have an address?” I asked.

  He clicked on the dot and it pulled up the address, which I knew might or might not be exact.

  I asked, “Could you send me her phone number?”

  He shook his head.

  “Look, Joshua,” I said. “I know she’s your big sister and she’s probably asked you to keep secrets. But that’s wrong because she might be in danger. Whatever she’s told you, you need to share with an adult. If you won’t tell me, give it to someone else who will help Miriam. Like Deputy Rogers.”

  I paused, reconsidering. Deputy Rogers seemed so blinded by his desire to convict Tommy that I wasn’t sure if he could be trusted to do what was right for Miriam.

  Joshua raised his head, his expression furtive. “She’s pregnant,” he said. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  I exhaled. “That’s all the more reason for me to help her.” He looked down at his phone again, but I couldn’t see what he was doing. But then my phone pinged. I glanced at my screen. He’d texted me a screenshot of Miriam’s location.

  “It a convenience store on Port Street, in East Chicago,” Joshua said. “I looked it up. I took a screenshot of the address before she turned her phone off—or maybe it died.”

  It wasn’t much, but maybe a clerk would remember her. “Thank you,” I said, relief spilling through me. “I’ll let you know when I find her.”

  AFTER I LEFT Vernon’s farm, I returned to Wanda’s to pick up Mammi. Both wanted to know if I’d seen Tommy. I told them about my afternoon, what Tommy had said, and that Joshua had given me Miriam’s location, or at least her proximity. Vaguely I remembered that I’d also talked to Ryan, but I didn’t tell them about that.

  I didn’t need to. He called again while we were telling Wanda good-bye. I sent the call to voicemail, but when Mammi asked who was calling, I said it was Ryan.

  “Are you going to call him back?”

  “Not now.” I stuffed my phone into my purse and zipped it.

  I figured Sunday morning would be the best time to leave for Chicago and show up at the convenience store—and maybe knock on doors around it. I needed to do that in the light of day, not the dark of night.

  I told Mammi I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to go to church with her the next morning.

  “I’ll see how much it snows,” she said. “If I can’t take the buggy, I’ll stay home.”

  The next morning there was only a few inches of snow, but Mammi was still undecided if she’d take the buggy or not. I told her I didn’t think she should, but she was still mulling it over when Uncle Seth arrived in his pickup.

  A few minutes later, he opened the front door with a hearty hello. “Need a ride to church, Dorothy?”

  Mammi laughed. “I believe I do.”

  That was my cue to leave. I called out a good-bye to Uncle Seth as I sailed through the open door and said, “Mammi can fill you in on where I’m going and why.”

  As I drove, I thought of Emma the night of Betha’s birth. Of the snow and bitter cold. Then I thought of Mathilde. Where was she hiding? And why? She owed George money, but why was he so cruel to her? Was he going to try to sell her to recoup some of the money she owed him? He certainly felt entitled to her, as if he owned her. He certainly believed he was above the law in his treatment of her. Mathilde and Miriam’s circumstances weren’t the same, but both were vulnerable young women with few resources at the hands of powerful men.

  Jah, an Amish young woman was at risk, and in modern times, Native women continued to be at risk too, just as they had in the past. From what I’d remembered when I took health-care sociology during college, Native women in both the United States and Canada continued to be abused at much higher rates than any other group, and nine times out of ten the perpetrators were non-tribal members.

  The roads were completely cleared once I reached the highway, and I expected to arrive in Chicago by 10:30 a.m. But because of an accident as I crossed into Illinois, it was closer to eleven by the time I reached the address Joshua had texted me. There were bungalows mixed in with businesses and apartment buildings. A few blocks away was the Calumet River to the west and Lake Michigan to the east. Lenore, along with Harriet, Minnie, and Georgie, had all moved to Chicago, but to Norwood Park, in the northwest corner of the city. That had always been a wealthy neighborhood. The East Side, with its industry and shipping, had always been a working-class neighborhood with, I guessed, more crime. Certainly more than Norwood Park.

  I parked in front of the convenience store. Perhaps Miriam had just stopped in there on her way to somewhere else. Maybe she wasn’t staying in the area at all. But hopefully someone would remember
her.

  I had no photo of her, only a description—the most defining one being that she might be dressed in Amish clothing. I walked into the store. A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, her hands wrapped around a travel mug. Her name tag read Pam.

  “Good morning,” I said. “How are you today?”

  Pam shrugged.

  “I’m looking for a young woman,” I said. “Eighteen years old, five foot five or so, brown hair and brown eyes.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows slowly. “A dime a dozen,” she said.

  “But this one may have been dressed Plain, wearing a dress and a Kapp.”

  “Amish?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you start with that?” She put her mug down on the counter. “There was a girl dressed that way in here yesterday. She was with a man who’s in here almost every day. I think he lives in the neighborhood.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “No.”

  I reached into my wallet, pulled out an old business card of mine, and crossed out everything except my cell phone number. “Would you call me if she comes in again?”

  The woman took the card and read it. “You’re not with the police or anything, right?”

  “That’s correct,” I said. “But she could be in danger.”

  “The guy she was with doesn’t seem dangerous. In fact, he has a bit of an accent. Similar to hers.”

  “Is the man dressed Plain?”

  “No. Jeans. Boots. Leather coat. Normal, I guess. He’s a bit older than she is.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been really helpful.” Was the guy she was with ex-Amish? If so, I felt a little better about her safety. But perhaps I shouldn’t. Kenny—and Tommy too—were ex-Amish.

  When I exited the store, I scanned the street for a Toyota Camry and then drove around the neighborhood. I spotted three Camrys, one even gray, but it had an Illinois license plate, not Indiana. I pulled over to try to decide what to do next—go back to Indiana or knock on doors—when a man wearing jeans, boots, and a leather coat walked past my SUV.

  I watched him go by and counted the houses he walked by. When he went up the steps of the seventh house down, I started the engine, pulled onto the street, and drove by slowly. When I reached the house, I fixed my eyes on the address—486 East Port. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. As I turned to walk down the steps, I noticed the man’s face in the window, frowning at me before disappearing behind the curtains.

  I found a coffee shop to get some caffeine, warm up, and collect my thoughts. A half hour later, as I nursed my latte, a text came in from Joshua. I have another address for her, from this morning. She had her phone on again for a while.

  I held my breath as I waited for my phone to chime.

  486 East Port.

  I had to try again.

  RETURNING TO THE area, I scanned the street up and down. There wasn’t a Camry in sight. I walked over to 486, up the steps, and to the front door. I knocked.

  And knocked.

  No one came to the door, so I walked down to the convenience store. Before I could even ask, Pam said, “She stopped by a little while ago. Bought some chips, stuff like that, and then left. She was by herself. I was going to give you a call, but I had other customers.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Please call when you see her again.”

  She fished my card out of her smock pocket, held it up, and said, “I will.”

  Defeated, I decided to go back to Mammi’s. What else could I do? Except pray that Miriam would stop by the convenience store again and the clerk would call me, or that the ex-Amish man would do the right thing. My hope that she was safe with him didn’t seem very realistic.

  As I left Chicago, I decided to drive through Gary and stop by Ethel’s house again. Hopefully she was home. There were lights on in the windows, which I found encouraging. As I walked up to her porch, a few snowflakes began to fall.

  I knocked on the front door and again heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Then the door swung open, and this time a man stood in front of me. Early thirties, with a trimmed beard, and wearing black pants and a forest green shirt. He invited me in but didn’t ask me to sit down.

  After telling him who I was, as the little girls waved at me on either side of his legs, he said, “I’m Daniel, Ethel’s husband.”

  “Is she home?”

  “She’s up at the hospital,” he answered. “One of the women in the neighborhood is ill.”

  “Do you know if she’s seen Miriam recently? Or have you?”

  He shook his head.

  I told him about my trip to Chicago. “There was a man, probably ten years older than she is, who she might be with. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

  Daniel shook his head. “From what I understand, her boyfriend back in Newbury Township already joined the church and doesn’t plan to leave, so it wouldn’t be him.” Then he sighed. “But I can’t keep track of all of the details. You’ll have to ask Ethel what all is going on.”

  I pulled a card out of my purse. “Would you ask her to call me, please?”

  He took it and sighed. “I’ll give her the card, but I’m not sure if we can help anymore. I don’t think Miriam wants us to.”

  I doubted she wanted me to either, but I wasn’t going to stop. I’d keep looking until I found her.

  CHAPTER 23

  In the few minutes that I’d been in Daniel and Ethel’s house, the snow had started to come down with gusto. It was a good thing I was headed back to Mammi’s. It appeared the storm might turn into a full-fledged blizzard before long.

  When Ryan and I became engaged, I had this idea that we would be the perfect couple, have perfect kids, and be perfect parents. I knew my parents loved me beyond reason, but they were young when I was born.

  Now I knew there would have been nothing “perfect” about Ryan and me as a couple or as parents. When I’d told Deputy Rogers there was no such thing as a fully functional family, I meant it.

  Tommy’s family seemed close-knit, but I could see all sorts of fissures in it too. As good as a mother as Wanda was, I’m sure Tommy, like most Amish kids, was never encouraged to show his emotions. And then the family went through financial difficulties, enough so that they lost their farm before their father died. Perhaps Tommy left because he didn’t feel as if there was a place for him to stay.

  In the end, I guessed the most parents could do was hope their best would be adequate—and then somehow make up for what they didn’t know by admitting it as soon as they realized it, even if their children were grown. Surely it was never too late to learn and grow and become more functional.

  But what did I know? I wasn’t a parent. And I wouldn’t be, at least not anytime soon.

  I merged onto the interstate. The snow was blowing straight at my windshield now, in a mesmerizing, hypnotic pattern. I blinked my bleary eyes, deciding I’d stop and get another coffee.

  When Mom died, Dad wouldn’t—or couldn’t—say how he felt. I could see that he was hurting, but he wouldn’t talk about it. So I didn’t feel I could talk about how I felt either. I didn’t want to make it worse for him than it already was. After I shut down Mom’s business, I didn’t have a job and had no real marketable skills, so I took a job in town at a café, first as a dishwasher and then as a waitress. Several of the other girls worked at the café during the summer but went to college the rest of the year, one at UCLA. Another two, who worked all year round at the café, took classes at the local community college. One was studying business. Another nursing. I began asking questions about things that hadn’t been included in my home-school education. What did I need to do to apply to college? What should I consider as far as deciding on a major? What scholarships were available?

  By then, it was pretty clear that Dad and Joy would soon marry, and I wanted to have an escape plan. I signed up for classes at the local community college and met with an academic counselor. After one year of classes,
I transferred to UCLA and settled on a health administration major. And I never returned home for more than a night or two at a time, now and then.

  I was so sure I was doing the right thing. And at the time, I probably was. But leaving so abruptly left a hole in my heart.

  Miriam might think she could escape her new family and make her own way, but she still needed her remaining parent. She still needed her mother’s wisdom and care.

  The lights of a semi in my rearview mirror grew brighter. I tapped on my brakes a couple of times. Did he see me? I sped up a little, but visibility was bad, and I didn’t feel comfortable going any faster than fifty.

  The truck slowed, and the distance between us increased.

  But a minute later, the truck was too close again. And growing even closer. Another semi was beside me on the left, so I couldn’t change lanes. I was as close as I felt comfortable to the car in front of me, a large sedan that was going forty-five. As the semi came even closer, I put my hazard lights on, trying to get the truck driver’s attention. I glanced in my rearview mirror one last time—just as the semi plowed into the back of my SUV.

  THE NEXT HOURS were a blur. A kind soul held my hand through the broken window until the firefighters arrived and pulled me from the wreckage. No one had to tell me the SUV had saved my life.

  I had bloody cuts on my forehead and hands. Something was wrong with my left ankle. My chest, arms, and knees all ached from the deployed airbags. But as the ambulance took off for the hospital, I knew how fortunate I’d been. It could have been so much worse.

  They took me to the Porter Regional Hospital emergency room. At some point, a nurse asked me about my insurance, and I asked her to get the card out of my purse. The next time she came by, she said she’d contacted my emergency number but wanted to know if I needed to contact anyone else.

  “My uncle,” I said. “His number is in my phone.” Which, thankfully, had survived the crash. I left a message for Uncle Seth, giving him the short version of what had happened, and asked him to go talk with Mammi.