Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

at what felt like safety—the solidness of the tree trunk. Her feet felt mired in the deep snow and the boots. She could not run if she tried.

      Lyddie stood from kneeling next to the malamute and looked at Sarah, her eyes wide with questioning and fright. The girl was just trying to be helpful, but it could get them all killed.

       Gott, help us!

      But in that moment of desperate prayer, Lyddie’s whisper filtered in.

      “Mamm! That is the man! I saw him yesterday!” Even through the mitten, the point of her finger was unmistakable. “See his neck and hand? Scary!”

      “Lyddie!” Her whisper came out more harsh than she intended. She needed to have a talk with her daughter about kindness and compassion when others looked different, but now was not the time. “Get back!”

      As Sarah grasped Lyddie’s shoulder and pulled her behind the tree, she snuck another glance through a few fall leaves that still clung to several branches. The man’s eyes were wide, and a small smile snaked across his lips as if he understood the situation. Perspiration dampened her brow despite the cold of the winter day. She struggled to even her breathing and remain calm, but her breath continued to puff out in short spurts.

      She looked at John, and he simply held a finger to his lips to indicate she should remain quiet.

      At the very least, the man had to know now that she had been around the site of the crash and, most likely, knew something about John. He knew that she was involved.

      If there was any doubt of the man’s knowledge of her, it was all erased as he drew a weapon out of a cargo pocket and pointed it at her.

      Her breath hitched. She clutched at Lyddie and Snowball, both to protect them and to keep from collapsing.

      He slowly approached the tree line, each step an ominous crunch in the hardened snow.

      “Sarah.” John’s whisper filtered through the panicked haze in her mind. She forced her gaze away from the gun to see John motioning for them to run deeper into the woods.

      Somehow, she moved her head enough to nod her assent.

      With a death grip on the arm of her only child, she turned to run. Her heavy winter boots felt glued to the ground, too bulky to move, but she clunked along for a few steps. The weight of her despair sank her farther down into the ground. How could she possibly outrun a bullet at her slow speed? Gott was always there, she reminded herself, and she begged for His protection.

      The cracking sound of a gun firing rang in her ears. Would she feel the pain of death? Or would she just suddenly find herself in the presence of Gott? Who would care for Lyddie?

      A strong force—a hand—pushed on her back. Strong enough to push her down. She landed face-down in the snow, her hand still on Lyddie, who fell next to her.

      Lyddie turned to look at her, fear contorting her face.

      “I love you,” Sarah mouthed.

      Then she closed her eyes, praying that her death would be quick and painless.