Читать книгу Her Forgotten Amish Past - Debby Giusti - Страница 13

“Hello?”

Becky Taylor tapped on the door of the trailer, then glanced at the Montcliff Studio van parked nearby and raised her voice to be heard over the cold wind that whistled through the tall pines.

“Is anyone there?”

Disheartened to have her knock go unanswered, she pulled her black cape tight around her shoulders and adjusted the starched white kapp that covered her knot of unruly hair.

An Amish woman should be able to twist her mane into a smooth and compliant bun, her grandmother’s voice from the past challenged. Instead, Becky battled the wayward wisps that danced in the swirling wind. Raking the chestnut strands away from her face, she glanced up at the dark clouds crowding the sky and the descending twilight that brought with it the smell of November rain and musky, red Georgia clay.

Concerned about the encroaching storm, she knocked again, then shrugged and dropped her hand to the knob that turned too easily. Needing to escape the fat drops of rain that, at that moment, started to fall, she stepped into the small entry space, fully intending to make her presence known. The sound of raised voices from a back room made her swallow down the greeting that had almost escaped her lips. Realizing she had overstepped her bounds by entering uninvited, she reached for the door again.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She started to turn, but just that fast, something cold and hard slammed against the side of her head. A scream lodged in her throat.

Pain, like white lightning, exploded across her forehead and ricocheted down her spine. She gasped for air and crumpled to the floor in a swirl of confusion.

A roar filled her ears as she floated in and out of consciousness. The sounds of a struggle followed by a woman’s scream. Had she screamed? Someone lifted her hand, wrapped her fingers around a hard object and lowered her arm to the floor again. All the while, she remained dazed by pain and unable to move.

She drifted into a numbing darkness, then jerked awake at the sound of running water as if a person was washing in a sink. She blinked to get her bearings. Her head pounded, and a cloying smell filled her nostrils and made her stomach roll.

Air. She needed fresh air.

Rising to her knees, she reached for the door and hoisted herself upright. An object dropped onto the rug. She glanced down, seeing the knife someone had placed in her hand. Her heart stopped as she stared for a long moment at the trellis-print carpet and the blood.

The room shifted. Fearing she would be sick, she opened the door and stumbled down the steps, needing to get away, away from the blood and the knife and whatever had happened that she couldn’t remember.

The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet and her feet slipped on the soggy grass. She staggered toward the dense stand of tall pine trees and hardwoods that edged the property. Her breath clouded the frosty air, and a pounding in her temple kept time with the rapid beating of her heart.

She glanced back and gasped. A man stood backlit in the doorway. Without seeing his face, she felt his gaze and knew instinctively when he spotted her in the descending nightfall. He shouted something, then leaped forward, like a wild animal lunging for its prey.

Run!

She pushed through the underbrush. Tripping on a gnarly root, she caught herself, then lumbered on. Fear compressed her chest, and her lungs burned like fire, but she had to keep moving.

From somewhere behind her, she heard a voice, calling for her to stop. She ignored the warning and pushed on. Bramble and briars tugged at the hem of her dress, catching the fabric and scratching her legs.

Her kapp nearly slipped from her head. She grabbed for the ties, hanging unknotted at her neck and glanced back. The sound of him thrashing through the underbrush made her heart pound all the faster.

She could hear his raspy intake of breath. He called out again, but the roar in her ears prevented her from understanding what he said. All she knew was that he was close behind her. Too close.

If she could hear him, he could hear her.

She turned off the path and pushed deeper into the brush. Her foot snagged on a root. She tumbled to the ground, landed on her hands and quickly climbed to her feet. She had to keep moving.

Branches scraped her arms and caught at her cape. She raised her hands to protect her face as she continued on, afraid to stop, fearing what he would do if he found her.

The terrain angled downward. She heard the surge of water and narrowed her gaze in hopes of seeing what lay at the bottom of the steep ravine. As if on cue, the dark clouds parted ever so slightly and a thread of moonlight shone over a rushing waterfall, swollen from the recent rain. Its beauty lost on her, she saw only the steep incline that needed to be navigated if she wished to escape. Far below, the falling water rushed into a cascading river that surged down the mountain.

Glancing over her shoulder again, she searched for her assailant, then turned back too quickly. Her feet slipped out from under her on the rain-slick slope. She screamed as the mountain gave way, sending her tumbling, head over heels down the incline. Rocks scraped and cut her flesh as she somersaulted, over and over again until she came to a stop on a small outlay of soggy soil.

Her shoulder hit the ground and her head crashed against a jagged boulder. Pain seared through her body. She couldn’t see or feel or think of anything that had happened. All she knew was that the darkness surrounded her like the dead of night.

Movement on the roadway ahead caught Ezekiel Hochstetler’s attention. He pulled back on the reins of his buggy and leaned forward, squinting into the darkness. His mare, Sophie, slowed to a walk and snorted, as if she too wondered what was undulating across the pavement. Surely not a bear. The creature was too slender.

Whatever it was stumbled and swayed as if drunk with muscadine wine or sick with fever.

The buggy drew closer and the moon broke through the clouds covering the night sky. Ezekiel’s heart lurched as he spied the calf-length dress and flowing hair.

An Amish woman with her back to him. Was she sick?

Whether sick, or confused and disoriented, one thing was certain, she needed help.

Pulling the buggy to a stop, he hopped to the pavement and slowly approached her. “Ma’am?”

She glanced over her shoulder as if unaware of his approach. Fear flashed from her eyes.

“No,” she cried, her voice little more than a whisper.

Turning as if to flee, her feet tangled, one upon the other. She gasped, splayed her arms and started to fall.

He caught her, pulled her close and held her tight as she whimpered and fought to free herself from his grasp.

“I will not harm you,” he said, hoping to ease her concern. “You are safe with me.”

She struggled, but her feeble attempts were little match for his firm, but gentle hold.

Staring down at her, his gut tightened, seeing the scrapes and cuts on her arms and cheeks. Brambles nested in her hair. Her kapp hung to one side of her head, held in place by a crisscross of hairpins. Streaks of blood stood out against the starched white fabric.

What had happened to this woman?

With a last surge of determination, she tried to pull free, and then her knees buckled and her eyes fluttered closed. She collapsed limp against his chest.

He lifted her into his arms and continued to hold her as he climbed into his buggy and flicked the reins. He could not leave her on the road, not in this condition. He would take her to Hattie’s farm. His aunt would provide comfort for the woman and provide for her immediate needs. Water and nourishment, along with salve and bandages to cover her wounds.

Holding her close, Ezekiel was reassured by her breath that played across his neck. Although grateful she was alive, he shook his head in bewilderment. Why would a woman stagger along this desolate stretch of mountain road, far from town or any of the Amish farms that dotted the valley?

Another thought came to mind, but he shoved it aside. He could not dwell on the past. He had moved beyond the pain of Irene’s death. At least, he thought he had. Yet something about this woman and the fear he had seen in her eyes brought back all that had happened.

Irene had left him shortly before their wedding, saying she needed time to experience life before she joined the Amish faith and married him. A few weeks later, he had followed after her, hoping to convince her to come back to Amish Mountain. He never suspected Irene had gotten involved with a drug dealer who cooked up methamphetamines in his cabin. Or that she had started using crystal meth.

He shuddered at the memories that welled up unbidden and glanced again at the battered woman in his arms. He needed to focus on her problems and not his own.

Hattie’s farm was not far, and the mare covered the distance at a sprightly trot. Zeke barely touched the reins before Sophie turned into the entrance drive, eager for the oats and hay that awaited her.

Zeke pulled the mare to a stop at the back porch of his aunt’s home. Carefully, he climbed down, still holding the bedraggled woman close.

The kitchen door opened, and his aunt stepped onto the porch, her gaze drawn with worry.

“You are late in coming from town, Ezekiel.”

As he approached the door, her eyes widened. “What have you brought?”

“A woman, Hattie. I found her wandering on the road.”

“She has fainted, yah?”

“I fear her condition is far more serious.”

Hattie held the door open. “Hurry her into the house and upstairs to the guest room.”

Grabbing an oil lamp, his aunt followed him to the second floor and into the bedroom. She pulled back the quilt that covered the bed and stepped aside as he placed the injured woman on the fresh sheet that had dried in the sun and smelled of the outdoors.

Hattie removed the woman’s kapp and pointed to the streaks of blood, then glanced up at Ezekiel who shared her concern.

“Someone has hurt her,” he whispered.

His aunt nodded.

She slipped the black cape from the woman’s shoulders and gasped. Zeke’s gut twisted, seeing the blood that stained the front of her dress. More blood than would have come from her head wound alone.

“Gott help you, Zeke,” his aunt said with a shake of her head. “Trouble has found you again.”

Thoughts of the explosion and subsequent fire flooded over him again. He had carried Irene from the drug dealer’s cabin and had tried to resuscitate her. The memory of her limp body brought the pain back anew.

Giving his heart to an Englisch woman over two years ago had been his first mistake. He had made so many, but he was wiser now and would not be swayed by a new pretty face, even if she was Amish.

For the last twenty-four months, he had found solace helping his aunt with the upkeep of her farm. Here in this idyllic mountain setting, he had holed up away from the world. He would not let anyone, even a woman in distress, disrupt his status quo and the tranquil existence he had created for himself.

He sighed at his own foolishness, letting out a lungful of air. The stranger had already thrown his peaceful life into confusion.