Inescapable (3 page)

The next morning
Charity and I loaded up our meager belongings and filled the car with gas. My hip still ached, but I chose to ignore it. Before driving away from our apartment, I checked the street carefully, making certain there were no small orange cars in sight. There weren't. Nor did I see the man in the red cap anywhere. As I pulled onto the road, a feeling of relief washed over me. We were traveling toward the one place where no one could find us, a small town nestled in the northern part of Kansas, only ten miles from the Nebraska border. Surely we would be safe there.

We left Kansas City around ten o'clock with almost two inches of snow on the ground. The roads in town were slippery, but when we reached the highway, they were in pretty good shape, despite the continuing snowfall.

“Where are we going again, Mama?” Charity asked from the backseat. I looked in the rearview mirror. She was settled in her booster seat, The Princess clutched in her arms.

“We're going to the place we lived when you were a baby,” I said for about the third time, trying to be patient with her. “Your grandma and grandpa live there.”

There was silence as she considered my response. Finally, she asked, “Will I see my daddy?”

My heart skipped a beat. Charity had never asked about her father before. I knew she'd thought about it as she watched other children at school with their fathers, but she seemed to view them only as an oddity. Not something that pertained directly to her.

“No, honey. Your daddy doesn't live in Kingdom. He lives a long way away.”

“But why?” A frown darkened her heart-shaped face. Although Charity looked very much like me, with curly black hair and dark brown eyes, I could certainly see Clay in her too. Clay's coloring was lighter than hers, but he was clearly displayed in the tilt of her head, her turned-up nose, and the widow's peak that framed her face.

“He . . . he had to go away a long time ago, Cherry Bear. I don't think we'll ever see him again.”

She locked eyes with mine in the mirror. “Is he dead, Mama? Missy said my daddy was probably dead just like her daddy that got killed in the war.”

So she'd been talking about her father at school. I felt a sense of shame, knowing I should have addressed the subject long ago, but I had been afraid, unsure how to explain my failure to provide her the kind of family she should have had.

“I'm sure he's not dead, honey.”

Her frown deepened. “But how do you know?”

I sighed. “I
don't
know. That's just what I think.” I screwed up a smile. “Let's not worry about it anymore right now. Okay? We'll talk more about it after we get ho . . . after we get to Kingdom.”

She nodded slowly, but I could tell I hadn't satisfied her curiosity. How would I ever be able to clarify it for her? Would she be ashamed of me too? The disgrace and humility I'd felt in Kingdom washed over me, and I almost pulled over. What was I doing? I was twenty-three years old. Someone who should have her life on track. Why was I going back to a place I'd promised to never set foot in again? Would there be a friendly face anywhere in the entire town? A moment ago I'd almost called Kingdom
home
. But it wasn't home. Not by a long shot. What if we were run out of town? Not allowed to even enter the place I'd grown up? I hadn't considered such a possibility until that moment. How would something like that affect Charity?

“Mama, I don't have any friends in Kingdom, do I?” I almost didn't hear her, she spoke so softly. Her question made my heart ache. I didn't know how to answer her.

“Not yet, Cherry Bear. But once people meet you, you'll make lots of friends.” Was that true? Had I just lied to her?

Charity was quiet for a minute or two. I kept checking the rearview mirror, watching her face. She was obviously thinking hard about the situation. Finally she looked at me, our eyes making contact in the mirror again. “Who are your friends, Mama? Maybe they'll like me too.”

Feeling a sense of panic, I tried to recall some of the residents in Kingdom who had been kind to me. Funny, but I'd spent so much effort the last five years purposely
not
thinking about the small Mennonite town, that pulling up memories now was rather difficult. Memories buried beneath years of pain and repression began to drift into my mind like tendrils of smoke released from a candle that had just been blown out.

“Well, let's see. There's Hope Kauffman. She makes beautiful quilts.” Hope ran Kingdom Quilts. Her shop sold finished quilts and quilted pieces fashioned by the female residents of Kingdom. She also offered lessons to young women who needed to learn how to succeed at the age-old craft perfected by our Amish and Mennonite ancestors.

“I like quilts,” Charity said happily. “Tell me something else about her.”

“Like what?”

“Like does she have a daddy?”

The
daddy
question again. I stifled a sigh of frustration. “Yes, she has a daddy. His name is Samuel.”

“Is he a nice daddy?”

I wanted to tell her that he was certainly nicer than
my
daddy, but I didn't. “Yes, he's a nice daddy.” Actually, Samuel was a good father, although just like most of the men in Kingdom, he was serious about his religion. At least Hope never had to gain the favor of the church to work in the shop, since Samuel oversaw the daily business. Samuel had kept a tight rein on his beautiful daughter in many ways, yet she'd had freedoms most of the other women in Kingdom didn't enjoy.

“Do you like Hope Kau . . . Kau . . .”

“Kauffman,” I finished for her. “And yes, I like her very much. She was a very good friend to me.” I'd been in awe of Hope, since she was occasionally allowed to travel alone to a fabric store in Washington, Kansas, for supplies. Usually, only the men drove buggies past the borders of town. If women wanted to go, they would ride with their husbands. But once a month, Hope would hitch up their horse, Daisy, and ride out of town by herself. I liked to watch her go, pretending I was in the buggy, traveling away from the place that held so much misery.

And then, one day, it
was
me. Hope saw my distress and the unkind way my father treated me after Charity was born, and she agreed to help me get away. I had waited in a grove of trees near the edge of town, holding my child, a cloth bag containing a few clothes, and a little money my mother had kept hidden in a jar in her kitchen. Hope picked me up and drove me to Washington, where she helped me buy a bus ticket. It took several bus rides to get to Kansas City.

The Salvation Army took us in, and the kind staff there gave me a job cleaning and cooking for the women housed at the shelter. They also helped me get my GED and find my first apartment. I worked at Betty's Café for a while, but then Sylvia met me and changed my life, teaching me how to use a computer and training me to be her administrative assistant at Harbor House.

Hot tears pricked at my eyelids. Maybe someday I'd get the chance to thank Sylvia and let her know I was okay. I couldn't believe she would suspect for a minute that I'd taken that money. But even as I tried to reassure myself about Sylvia's faith in me, doubt nagged at my mind, making me feel sick inside.

“How much longer, Mama?” Charity's words were slurred, and she could barely keep her eyes open. She'd be asleep before long.

“Just a little while, Cherry Bear. I'll let you know when we get close.”

She blinked several times and nodded. Soon I could hear her quiet little snores. The sound brought me peace while the tires pounded out a steady rhythm against the road. Thankfully, the car seemed to be running well. If I still prayed, I would have been praying with all my might that it would get us to Kingdom without breaking down.

As I drove, more and more people from Kingdom began to flood my mind. Good people. It slowly became apparent that my father's unkindness had flooded out quite a few positive memories.

I tried to find something on the radio to keep my mind occupied. I searched for music that would soothe the apprehension building inside me, but stations were becoming faint and full of static. A sign we were approaching Kingdom. The modern world was beginning to fade away. Once again, I considered turning back. But the desire to protect my daughter drew me—along with some strange force that compelled me to keep going. If I hadn't walked away from the church, I'd have thought it was God's leading. But my father had made it crystal clear that God doesn't listen to people like me. Sinners. I'd been told that over and over as a child. And I'd tried so hard to be good. To be worthy of His love. Eventually I gave up. It was evident I'd never be perfect enough for my earthly father
or
my heavenly Father. Some people seemed born to always be on the outside looking in. If this was my destiny, I might as well embrace it. Fighting against it had proven useless.

Finally, I saw the turnoff that would eventually lead me to the only road that led to Kingdom. A little over an hour later I reached the city limits of Washington. I first met Clay there, at school, although we didn't really get to know each other until after my father made me quit school after eighth grade. The thought of Clay brought a familiar deep aching pain that had lived inside me ever since he'd abandoned me and his daughter. I quickly pushed him out of my mind. That was a door I was determined to keep closed for good.

Pulling off the main road, I parked in front of a popular local deli. My father never knew that some of the “Kingdom kids,” as we were called, left the school grounds during lunch and bought sandwiches there if we had money. I'd usually share a sandwich with Mary Yoder, a girl my age whose father was a lot like mine. Mary was a quiet child who did everything she was asked to do but without ever showing a spark of enthusiasm. Going to the deli was the one rebellious thing she ever did, and it was also the only time I ever saw her smile. As soon as she took a bite of that forbidden meatball sub, her expression changed and her blue eyes twinkled.

Unfortunately, before the year was over, I lost my sandwich partner. Someone tattled on us, and her father pulled her out of school for good. I'd still see her around Kingdom and in church, but she never spoke to me again. I was certain she was forbidden to have anything to do with me, since I'd been her partner in crime. I never saw another smile on her face.

I turned off the engine and checked out the deli. It looked exactly the same as it had back then—as if frozen in time. I turned around to check on Charity. She was still asleep, so I called her name softly. Her eyes fluttered open. At first she was drowsy, but when I told her we were stopping to eat, she sat up straight in her booster seat.

“Do they have cheeseburgers, Mama?” she asked, clutching her doll.

“I don't think so, honey. But they make the best sandwiches I've ever tasted.” A look of disappointment flashed across her face. “But you know what? Their meatball sandwich is a lot like a cheeseburger. I think you'll like it.”

With this encouragement, she smiled. “Can I have a pop too?”

“Yes, you can have a pop too.”

Her happiness restored, we got out of the car and went inside. It felt good to stretch my legs. The pain in my hip had lessened, had turned from a deep ache to a small twinge, confirming my belief that there wasn't any serious damage. I breathed a sigh of relief.

There were a couple of tables open, so we grabbed one. The shop's only waitress hurried over and cleaned off the tabletop while I ordered two meatball sandwiches. About ten minutes later, Charity and I were happily munching away. The sub was as good as I'd remembered. The sliced meatballs were spicy and covered with thick red sauce. And the cheese was gooey and rich.

“This is the best cheeseburger I ever ate,” Charity said, shaking her head. “I want all my cheeseburgers like this forever, Mama.”

Her comment brought laughter from a family seated at a nearby table, as well as from our waitress. “How about some more?” she asked, motioning to our almost empty glasses.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

She picked up our glasses and walked away, returning a couple of minutes later with refills. “You folks aren't from around here, are you?” she asked. She looked to be about my age, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“No . . . Well, I used to be. It's been a long time since I've been back.”

“You used to live in Washington?”

I shook my head. “I lived in . . . Kingdom.”

“Kingdom kids, Kingdom kids. Watch 'em as they flip their lids.”
The taunts of some of the schoolchildren came back to me. Especially those who liked to rip the bonnets and hats from our heads. I watched the waitress's face for a sign of rejection. There wasn't one.

“Kingdom. Heard of it, but I don't know much about it.” She smiled at Charity and me. “Hope you two have a real nice reunion.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling relieved. As she walked away I reminded myself that I wasn't a child anymore. I was an adult who didn't have to worry about what other people thought. So why were nervous butterflies slamming into each other in my stomach?

We finished our lunch, and I paid the tab, thanking our kind waitress once again. As we were going out the door, a man was coming in. He held the door open for us, and I thanked him without actually looking at him. Charity and I were halfway to our car when I heard the door slam and a voice call out, “Elizabeth? Elizabeth Engel?”

I turned around, surprised to hear my name. The man who'd opened the door came toward us, a puzzled look on his face.

“I-I'm Elizabeth Engel. Do I know you?”

He smiled. “It's Roger. Roger Carson. You know, from Washington Elementary?”

Although his bright red hair had turned darker and his freckles weren't quite as noticeable, he still looked the same.
“Kingdom kids, Kingdom kids. Watch 'em as they flip their lids.”
I suddenly remembered one of Roger's personal favorites.
“Lizzie Engel, Lizzie Engel. She's so ugly she'll stay single.”