Once back in the kitchen, she took a seat at the far end of the farmhouse table, staying silent as her uncle talked with the sheriff about local happenings, including an upcoming street fair and auction in Hadburg to raise money for the volunteer fire department. She tensed, knowing everyone would go. People would comment if she and Matthew didn’t.
When Sheriff Byler finally rose to leave, her uncle politely standing to show him out, Rebecca only joined the others in murmuring “Goodbye.”
She nudged her son, who said, “I liked looking at your police car,” which was only polite. That was the moment when Rebecca realized in horror that they had been speaking in English the entire time. Of course they had been. But an Amish boy Matthew’s age shouldn’t be fluent in English.
Frantically trying to think of an excuse if the sheriff ever asked, Rebecca didn’t let herself meet those dark blue eyes, and she stayed seated until he was gone. Once she heard the engine, she let Matthew run outside.
Onkel Samuel came back to sit across the table from her. “Curious about you, he is.”
She nodded. “I think that’s why he came by this morning.”
“Ja, that is so.” Lines in his forehead deepened. “I didn’t tell you, but after you got off the bus, he asked about your face.”
Her aenti Emma and Grossmammi bustled in the background and didn’t contribute to the conversation.
“I knew he’d seen my bruises,” Rebecca said. “When we were sitting in his car, he asked how it happened. I made it sound like an accident, but told him the driver didn’t stop and the police hadn’t been able to find him.”
His face relaxed. “That is good. There was no need to lie.”
“No.” Onkel Samuel wouldn’t approve of lying, but... “He asked what my last name is. You greeted him then, so I didn’t have to answer, but what if he asks again?”
He pondered that. “Outsiders join us sometimes. Someone named Holt could be one of them.”
“Yes, but if he looked me up in his computers, he might find me. And Matthew’s name is different from mine, besides.” She hesitated. “I did lie to him. I said I had come from Pennsylvania.”
He frowned. “Perhaps we should tell him what you fear. Someone must set things right. I think he can be trusted.” Still, he sounded reluctant.
Inexplicably, the idea of confiding in Sheriff Byler was appealing...as was he. And that triggered a new kind of alarm. Being attracted to him was a really bad idea. Plus, a physical attraction was absolutely the wrong reason to trust him. She could easily imagine him being cocky enough to think he could solve her problems, and arrogant enough to do what he thought best without asking her first. And that was assuming he didn’t have more in common with Estevez than she wanted to believe.
“The fewer people who know I’m not Amish, the better,” she said slowly. “What if he tells a friend, or one of his officers, who tells someone else? So fast, everyone could know.”
“If you ask him to keep silent...”
“Why don’t we wait and see what happens?” she said. “He came out here and saw that I’m doing fine. He may have satisfied his curiosity.”
After a moment, he nodded. “Ja, that is so.”
Rebecca hesitated. “You don’t think I’m off in the head to think someone was trying to kill me?”
“Wu schmoke is, is aa feier,” he said without hesitation.
That much of the language she remembered: where there is smoke, there is fire.
“God asks us to trust in Him, but He does not say to be a fool,” her uncle added. “When a horse lifts a hoof and I see he will set it down on my toes, I move my foot schnell.”
“Denke,” she said, torn between humor and tears.
He only smiled and said, “I must get back to work.” Clapping his straw hat onto his head, he departed.
It took her a moment to collect herself enough to rise and say, “Let me wash those dishes, Aenti Emma.”
* * *
DANIEL DROVE AWAY from the Graber farm no more satisfied than before. He knew he didn’t have Rebecca’s whole story. She’d failed to offer her last name, which increased his suspicion that she was running from an abusive spouse.
He didn’t much like that explanation for several reasons. At the forefront was the danger to Rebecca and her kid. In his experience, domestic violence was like dynamite, volatile and deadly.
What was most puzzling was the rarity of an Amish woman fleeing from her husband. They were a peaceful people, committed to nonviolence. Domestic abuse existed among them, but forgiveness was so ingrained that women rarely gave up on a husband. Or perhaps it was more that the women knew how few alternatives they had. If the abuse was bad enough, she might go to her bishop, who would chide the husband, maybe going so far as counseling him and demanding he confess and beg forgiveness from the entire congregation. But for the wife to take her child and run... Daniel had never heard of such a thing.
Even as he brooded, Daniel noted how well the corn seemed to be coming on, thriving in the heat. Many local farmers would plant a second crop once the corn was harvested—soybeans had become a success in the difficult northern Missouri climate, but many of the Amish chose a cover crop like forage turnips, which provided good grazing for livestock and kept down weeds. Even the Amish moved with the times, just with more deliberation than their neighbors.
He wasn’t sure what more he could do to help Rebecca when she so clearly didn’t want his help. Daniel fully understood the stubborn refusal of the Amish to turn to outsiders. Samuel Graber was a capable man, and he had extended family in the county. Yet he was ill equipped to counter violence. The best he could do was slow down an intruder to give Rebecca and Matthew time to hide in the barn or the woods at the back of the property. Samuel would let himself be shot rather than strike a blow.
And that was where Daniel had collided with the Ordnung, the rules directing the people that had once been his.
No, his decision to go out in the world had been more complicated than that, as nearly every life-altering decision was, but he knew his father or mother would say sadly, “Daniel could not forgive.”
To them it was that simple.
He wished he thought any of the Grabers would call him if a dangerous man came seeking Rebecca.
* * *
“SLEEP TIGHT.” REBECCA kissed her son’s forehead and stood. She lifted the kerosene lamp to light her way back downstairs. Thank goodness Matthew had never been afraid of the dark.
“Mommy?” he whispered.
She paused and turned back.
“Can Daddy come see us here?” Matthew asked. “I bet he’d like the horses, too.”
He’d asked about his father when they first set out, but not since. After a moment, she returned to sit on the edge of his bed again. Smoothing his hair, she said, “You know how hard he works. He wouldn’t be able to get away for days and days. This is our adventure.”
“But...what about when it’s his weekend?”
His weekend had just come and gone. She didn’t like to think about how he’d reacted.
“We’ll