Gathering Shadows (16 page)

The downpour made it hard to see, but I kept going. I knew Reuben would follow me, but I had no intention of being stopped. I had to have some answers, and I was tired of being patient. Tired of waiting for the right moment and worrying about what
might
happen. Ryan's voice was growing louder in my head. I had to know the truth. If someone knew where he was, I intended to find him—no matter the cost. I fell down twice but didn't pay any attention to my wet, dirty jeans or my mud-caked sneakers. As I ran, I realized that what Zac had tried to tell me was true. Ryan
was
my brother. Blood ties or not, we were joined and always would be.

Behind me, I could hear the roar of Reuben's truck, so I ran off the road, through a culvert, and pushed myself between the fence rails that surrounded the property. As I wiggled through the small opening, I thought I felt a sharp pain but decided to ignore it. I glanced to my left and noticed a gate guarding the long driveway. Reuben would have to get out of his truck and open it if he wanted to follow me all the way to the house.
That gave me just enough time to make it to the porch before he could stop me.

Although it seemed as if I'd been running forever, in truth, it only took a few minutes to reach the front of the house and fling myself at the door. I started knocking loudly, and a few seconds later, the door was opened by a startled woman, who appeared frightened by my presence on her front porch. Before I had a chance to say anything, a tall, thin man came up behind her.

“Are you in trouble, young lady?” he asked, his tone gruff.

“No . . . I mean, yes.” I wiped my face with my hand. It was impossible to tell the rain from my tears. “Are you Samuel Fisher?”

He nodded. “Yes, I'm Samuel. Who are you?”

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please talk to me. I'm Wynter . . . I mean, Emily Erwin. Ryan Erwin is my brother. I think you know him as Elijah. I've got to find him. Talk to him. You may be the only people who can tell me where he is.”

Samuel didn't respond; he just stared at me. I heard Reuben's truck pull up behind me. His door creaked open and then closed. His footsteps pounded up the steps and onto the porch.

“Samuel. It's me. Reuben King.”

“Reuben, what's the meaning of this?”

For a moment, I thought Reuben might grab me and try to drag me back to the truck. But instead, he put his arm around me.

“Samuel, Wynter needs to talk to you. She also needs to get warm. Will you let us in?”

“Oh, Samuel,” the woman said, compassion on her face. “This poor woman is soaked to the skin.” Her eyes widened as she stared at me. “And she's bleeding. We must help.”

I looked down and was shocked to see a growing red stain on the front of my shirt.

Although it appeared to be done out of reluctance, Samuel reached over and unlatched the door.

“Come in,” he said, standing to one side.

Reuben gently guided me into the house. We entered a simple but cozy living room. A fire burned in the fireplace, and a wonderful aroma permeated the air.

“You come with me, young lady,” the woman said. “I'm Naomi Fisher. I will tend to your wound and get you out of those wet clothes. Then you can warm up in front of the fire.”

I started to walk toward her, but she motioned for me to stop. “I think we need to take your shoes off first.”

To my horror, I realized I'd tracked mud into her house. “I'm so sorry. I didn't realize . . .”

“It doesn't matter. My husband almost always forgets to wipe his feet before coming inside. I am used to cleaning up after him.”

She gave me a warm smile, which made me feel even worse about my negligence. I slid off my shoes and handed them to her. She carried them back to the front door and set them out on the porch.

After a quick glance at Reuben, I followed the woman out of the living room and up the stairs. She led me to a bedroom with a huge carved bed and matching dresser.

“Will you remove your shirt? I will get antiseptic and bandages.”

I nodded and slipped off my shirt. There was a long scratch across my abdomen. Probably caused by a nail on the fence poles I'd pushed myself through. Although the wound wasn't serious, there was a lot of blood. I felt light-headed and wanted to sit down, but I was too dirty and didn't want to get mud on the quilt that covered the bed.

Naomi came back into the room with something in her hands. “Oh, my dear. You look pale. You should sit down.”

“I . . . I don't want to ruin your quilt.”

“It can be washed. Please. Sit down before you faint.”

I sank down on the bed, grateful to get off my feet before I passed out. Naomi quickly cleaned the scratch and then covered it with gauze and tape. “You should have that looked at by a doctor when you get home,” she said.

“I will. Thank you.”

“I am glad to help.” She put her supplies on the dresser. “I only have simple dresses for you to change into. One of them will have to do.”

“That's fine,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

She removed a cornflower-blue dress with small white flowers from her closet. Then she pulled a heavy slip out of a dresser drawer. “I'm about your size. I think this will fit you. Take those wet things off. All of them. This will keep you warm until I can wash and dry your clothes.”

I started to tell her that tossing them in the dryer was enough, but when I looked down, I realized how filthy I really was.

“I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“You seem to be on an important quest,” she said quietly. “I have no reason to turn you away.”

She put the dress and the slip on the bed. “You must also have something for your feet.” She went back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of thick socks. “This should help. I will wash off your shoes and dry them as well.” She took a small blanket out of another drawer and put it down on the floor. “Put your wet things on this. I will wait outside the door while you change. Let me know when you are finished.”

“I will.”

She nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. I quickly undressed and pulled on the slip and dress. There was no mirror in the room, but with the light from a lamp behind me, I could see my reflection in the window. The woman looking back at me certainly didn't look like Wynter Evans, the reporter. With the simple dress and my braided hair, I almost looked the part of a Mennonite farmer's wife. I checked my hair in the window. Although it was wet, it was still tightly braided and had survived my mad dash in the rain. I pulled on the socks Naomi had given me. My feet felt like ice, and the warm socks felt wonderful.

“I'm finished,” I called out.

The door swung open, and Naomi came back into the room. She nodded her approval when she saw me. “The dress looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Under her prayer covering, Naomi wore her dark hair in a bun. Although her features were somewhat plain, she had a nice trim figure.

I smiled. “I'm sure it doesn't, but that's very kind of you.”

She bent down, pulled the edges of the blanket together with my rain-soaked clothes in the middle, and picked everything up.

“You go on downstairs and sit in front of the fire. I'll get this in the washer and join you in a few minutes. I think some hot coffee and a piece of warm rhubarb pie will help you feel better.” She tipped her head toward me and left.

I'd wanted to ask her about Elijah and his parents but decided to wait until we were downstairs. I needed to confront both of them. I was determined to get answers before I left this house and had no intention of waiting any longer to learn the truth.

As I came down the stairs, I could hear Samuel and Reuben talking. Had Reuben broached the subject without me? But
as I neared the living room, I realized they were talking about crops. I frequently found myself forgetting that Reuben was a farmer. Having never seen his farm, it was hard to form an image of him working in his fields, planting crops, and bringing in a harvest.

The men stopped speaking when I came into the room. Reuben looked at me with concern. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Just a scratch. I'm fine.”

“Please sit here,” Samuel said, rising from his chair and pointing toward a small love seat near the fireplace. “You need to warm up.” He took a large quilt off the back of the couch where Reuben sat. “And put this around you. You must be cold.”

As if agreeing with his assessment, my body shivered involuntarily. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” I took the quilt, sat down on the soft love seat, and pulled the quilt over my shoulders. The warmth from the fire and the coziness of the room helped me to relax a bit. But then the incident on the road and the reason for our visit pushed their way back into my mind.

Naomi peeked from around the corner. “Samuel, help me bring some coffee and pie to our guests.”

He stood up and left the room, leaving Reuben and me alone.

“Did you say anything?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Not yet. Please don't jump on them. We need to ease into this.”

“Ease into it?” I said, recognizing a note of hysteria in my voice. “I'm not interested in protecting their social sensibilities. I want to know where my brother is. I'm tired of waiting until everything is just right.”

“I thought you didn't want to spook them. Didn't want them to let Nathan know we were asking questions about Elijah,” he said darkly. “This isn't really the way to accomplish that, is it?”

“I know, I know. But I just can't wait anymore. I'm frightened. It's like I can feel Ryan slipping away.”

“I understand that, Wynter. But alienating the Fishers won't help us. We need to present our concerns to them as if we consider them to be partners in finding the answers we need. If you make them feel we're on opposing sides, they'll get defensive.”

I sighed. “Whatever. But I don't intend to dance around this. I'm not leaving here without the truth.”

At that moment, Naomi and Samuel came back into the room. She carried a tray with cups and a coffee carafe. He held two plates in his hands.

“I have sugar and cream in case you use them in your coffee,” Naomi said as she put the tray down on the large coffee table. “And pie for both of you.”

“Won't you have some?” I asked.

Samuel smiled and patted his lean stomach. “I'll save my pie for after dinner. It's a treat I enjoy before bed.”

“We feel bad eating in front of you,” Reuben said.

“Please don't,” Naomi said. “I love to watch people enjoying my food.”

Naomi prepared my coffee the way I asked. Then she got a small wooden tray from behind the couch and put it next to me, since the coffee table was too far away for me to reach it comfortably.

“Thank you so much.” I took a bite of the warm pie and was greeted with an explosion of tart rhubarb combined with sugar and cinnamon. “This is wonderful. I've had rhubarb pie only once before, and it was kind of sour.”

Samuel smiled. “Naomi is one of the best cooks in Madison County. She has a drawer full of blue ribbons from the state fair to prove it.”

“I can believe it,” I said, taking another bite and washing it down with coffee.

“Now,” Samuel said, his thick black eyebrows knit together in a frown, “what is this you want to know about Elijah?”

Reuben swallowed a bite of pie and put his plate down. “Wynter . . . I mean, Emily, lost her brother when she was young. He was abducted. We have reason to believe he might be in this area. Basically, we're looking for information. Any young men around the age of seventeen who might have been adopted.” He cleared his throat. “You see, we think he may have been illegally adopted—by people who had no idea there was anything wrong with the adoption process.”

Reuben was softening the situation, making it easier for the Fishers to tell us what we needed to know.

Samuel and Naomi looked at each other with puzzled expressions. Then Samuel turned his attention back to us. “I'm sorry, Reuben, but we know of no boy that age who could be the person you're searching for.”

He directed his gaze at me. “On the front porch, you mentioned Elijah. Surely you don't think he is your missing brother?”

“I . . . I don't know,” I said truthfully. “I came here because I saw a picture of him when he was younger. He looked exactly like my brother, Ryan.”

“A picture,” Naomi said with a frown. “Nathan would never allow his family to pose for pictures. Where did you see this?”

“It was a candid shot. Taken by the mother of a friend of mine. Elijah was out on the road in a buggy when she snapped the photo.”

“Have you met him in person?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes, once. Then he and his parents left town. We hoped he was with you. That way we could talk to him.”