The Guardian (3 page)

K
eeping the night watch,
Maryanna thought as she silently talked to God into the wee hours of Friday morning. She stood with clenched hands, her eyes fixed on the land beyond Hickory Lane. Dozens of men organized by Joshua Peachey, including Maryanna’s own father, had headed south through the field and on the narrow road hours before. With every wink of their flashlights and lanterns, Maryanna had beseeched God for help as they linked arms and combed the area.

Now the house was ever so still—too quiet. Leda, dear girl, had been the most reluctant to go to bed, sitting in her room and brushing her long blond hair for a good half hour before kneeling at her chair to pray. Benny and Tobias, on the other hand, were too quick to head for their bed, the mattress squeaking as they leaped in. She’d heard Tobias saying his prayers under the sheet, and the remembrance of his small, trembling voice brought tears to her eyes even now.

Unable to sleep, Maryanna moved through the kitchen and out to the back porch, standing beneath the partial moon. She felt as dazed as the night of Benuel’s Homegoing, numb and unable to think clearly.
“Fuzzy-headed”
is what her sister Mollie
had gently called it back then. Maryanna’s parents and all eight of her siblings had sought to soothe her in one compassionate way or another.

Moving away from the house, she wandered aimlessly to the little springhouse, then out to the edge of her lane, where she stood near the road and scanned the darkness, unable to see the men any longer. She shivered at the thought of her little one so far from home.

“I must do something,” she murmured, raising her hand to her cheek and leaning into it.

As a small child, Maryanna had learned hymns and read verses from the Psalms that brought the peace that passes understanding. Later, when Benuel’s untimely death came and the toil and the responsibility for their medium-sized farm—and the greenhouse he’d built—became wholly hers, the Scriptures she’d heard repeatedly as a girl buoyed her heart.

Maryanna had, in turn, determined to pass on the faith in the same way to her own children. Sadly, she felt she’d failed to do much with Sarah, the spiritual guidance falling through the cracks when Benuel died. It was all Maryanna could do to get out of bed and go through the chores of her day back then, when Sarah was just a one-year-old. Maryanna had sung to her and tucked her in with a prayer, but she hadn’t had the energy to continually instruct her in the ways of the Lord, as with her older three—she still didn’t.
Yet teaching my children to obey and respect almighty God is my utmost duty,
she thought, knowing she alone was now accountable before the Lord for watching over the souls of their youngsters for as long as they were under her roof and care.
We will give an account of our household to God one day.

Maryanna leaned against the old mailbox to steady herself, feeling uncommonly weak. But how could she rest, not knowing
where her sweet baby girl was? “Dear Lord, hear our prayers for Sarah,” she whispered to the night sky.

Oh, if only she could be out there looking right along with the men, doing something besides standing here. It was all she could do to stay put at home, waiting for word.
And in case little Sarah shows up here.

She trudged back to the house and up the long stairs to Sarah’s dark bedroom. Moving to the row of wooden wall pegs, lantern in hand, she touched the newest Sunday for-
gut
dress she’d sewn for Sarah—a soft rosy color.
Like her little cheeks.
She recalled Sarah running across the lawn and straight into her arms.

“Oh,” she gasped softly. Her mother-heart quivered at the thought of Sarah alone in the night.

Where?

Poor little thing, she hadn’t gotten into a car with an
Englischer
, had she? No, Maryanna couldn’t let herself dwell on that. Benuel’s distrust of fancy folk still overshadowed her. And the memory of Benuel’s failed business agreement with an Englischer years before made her flinch.

“He who looks up to God cannot look down on people,”
Bishop John Beiler had cautioned Benuel.

The whole thing had upset her husband no end, and because of it, Maryanna remained leery of getting too familiar with outsiders.

Now, staring out at the darkness, she thought of all the men and teenage boys searching up and down Harvest Road, and Old Leacock Road beyond. Josh Peachey had brought a map of the county and laid it out on her kitchen table as more than a dozen farmers looked on, quickly determining a plan of action. Buster, his big watchdog, had waited silently on Maryanna’s porch.

Surely, Sarah would be found soon … before morning’s light. The Lord’s all-seeing eye would guide the men, leading them as a loving shepherd cares for the smallest lambs.

And Sarah’s angel.
She recalled Leda’s sweet reminder.

Jah, it’s just a matter of minutes… .
Maryanna was ever so sure.

Maryanna Esh’s anxious expression had strangely energized Joshua Peachey, and he took lengthy strides as the horizontal line of men picked their way over the quiet field. The conscientious assembly included the blacksmith and his new young partner from Indiana, as well as Hickory Hollow carpenters and dairy farmers. Even Michael Hostetler, raised Amish but recently moved to the outskirts of Hickory Hollow with his English bride, joined in the search. More than forty strong, and the number of men grew as news of Sarah Esh’s plight spread from house to house like a grass fire.

The sooner we find her, the better.
In one hand, Joshua gripped the leash for Buster, his energetic German shepherd. He wielded his large flashlight with the other, trusting the Lord God for help and guidance. He was thankful for an exceptionally clear night.

No one conversed as they picked their way over one acre after another, though Joshua heard an occasional whispered prayer, especially from Ezekiel Mast, Sarah’s maternal grandfather, and their ministerial brethren, including Bishop John Beiler. In his midforties, John was a younger bishop than most, yet as stern as any of the brethren in the area. But when it came to young children, his heart was soft. Joshua had observed him playing with his two youngest and was struck by the bishop’s affectionate side.

Joshua, too, had a tender spot for children. He particularly enjoyed Tobias Esh’s eagerness to assist him around the farm—the boy seemed drawn to him. He did wonder, though, if the main interest wasn’t Shadow, the black rabbit that had belonged to Joshua’s deceased wife, Suzanne. He sometimes let Tobias take the rabbit out of the cage in the kitchen and let it roam free. There was no doubt Maryanna’s young son was over the moon about the gentle animal.

On the other hand, Toby’s pretty mother was not at all interested in the dwarf rabbit. Come to think of it, she was not enamored with any of Joshua’s pets … nor with Joshua himself. Sure, they’d been neighborly, especially while Suzanne was living. But since her passing, Maryanna had changed from being the cheerful hostess—inviting them for supper and ice cream get-togethers—to being withdrawn. Keeping to herself, for sure.

Just then someone in the middle of the search line halted, and the whole bunch of them stopped, shining their flashlights toward Smithy Riehl, their longtime blacksmith, as he stooped over and picked up something that looked like a work boot. Nothing of consequence.

“How’d that ol’ boot get out here?” he asked the man next to him, Nate Kurtz, who merely nodded. “And only
one
, yet.”

This struck Joshua as rather humorous, although there was no chuckle left in him.

Buster pulled hard on the leash, nosing his way toward the boot. Joshua directed him back, and they continued plodding forward, a few more of the men talking occasionally now. It was as if they viewed the search as a sacred mission—or so Joshua felt. Sarah Esh was the dearest little girl ever … and not just because she favored her fair-haired mother. Sarah was exceptionally bright and quite the charmer, too—he’d observed
her more than a few times at market, smiling up at the English tourists. In fact, her older sister, Leda, had told Joshua’s own mother that she figured one day little Sarah would grow up to be a teacher at the one-room Amish school, or something that required an outgoing personality and a mighty
gut
wit, too. Spunky as Sarah was, some even wondered, himself included, if Maryanna’s youngest might eventually push the boundaries of the community.

Doubtless little Sarah would require a steady hand in the years to come.
She needs a father figure, for certain!

T
he very last thing Maryanna thought she was capable of was drifting away to slumber. Yet when the knock came at the back door before dawn Friday morning, she started and nearly toppled off the chair where she’d sat in the front room near the window. She’d been having a fretful dream, and it took several seconds till she realized where she was, or just why she was sitting up to sleep, of all things.

Then swiftly, it all rushed back. “Ach, has my Boppli returned?”

Maryanna staggered a moment as she stood to make her way through the front room and into the kitchen, to the main back door.

There on the walkway stood Joshua Peachey and his father, Stephen. Her eyes darted away from Josh’s thin, bearded face to his white shirt, grimy from the search. Stephen was every bit as disheveled. Minding her manners, she motioned them inside, glad she’d left the gas lamp burning in the kitchen.

In the light, she gasped at the sight of the small blue dress in Josh’s callused hand.
Sarah’s!

“Maryanna … I’m awful sorry.” Josh looked down at the
garment. “We found it next to Old Leacock Road a little bit ago.” His soft hazel eyes were serious as he handed it to her.

She reached for it and pressed the dress to her pounding heart.

“Found these, too.” Josh’s father held out his hand.

“Hairpins,” Maryanna muttered absently, receiving them and closing her fingers around the hard pins, squeezing them for dear life.

“The men are still out lookin’,” Josh said, a deep frown on his tanned face. “Till morning.”

“And for longer, if need be,” Stephen added, his expression grim.

She didn’t have to ask if there was anything else of Sarah’s. The men’s somber faces told it all. “
Denki
” was all she knew to say.

Josh’s gaze lingered, his care and concern evident. She looked away, and it struck her just then that the two of them must be thirsty.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” she managed to say.

“No, no, we’d best be gettin’ back to the others,” Stephen said, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Why not get some rest?” she urged the older man.

Josh agreed, suggesting his father return home. “You won’t be any
gut
tomorrow.”

“Ach, tomorrow’s already come,” Stephen firmly replied.

Maryanna felt weary—she had not wanted the day to arrive before Sarah’s return. “I appreciate everything you’re doing. I truly do.” She stared at the little dress. Its fabric suddenly felt flimsy, and she was overcome with emotion, struggling not to cry. “Ach, forgive me,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.

“Will you be all right here?” Josh was quick to ask.

He means alone.

There was no good answer—Maryanna was alone without Benuel each day and every agonizing night. Losing her daughter simply emphasized her sadness and loss all over again. Oh, she wanted to sob now, wail as she had when these same men had brought Benuel to her, carrying his broken, bleeding body across the field and placing him gently on the back porch. As tears filled her eyes, she stared blindly at this little dress she’d made with her own stitches.
For my precious girl.

She gathered herself as best she could. For absolute certain, she was all right in her own house, where her other children still slept soundly upstairs. Where good-hearted Benuel had worked diligently to turn this old farmhouse into a home and the greenhouse into a family business. Where little Sarah had come into the world, all dimpled and pink cheeked, with the assistance of Mattie Beiler, the local midwife.

Maryanna felt dizzy and reached out to steady herself. Josh’s face turned white—could he see the anguish in her eyes?

What does it mean?
she asked herself, terrified of the answer.
Little Sarah’s dress, here in my hands?

But, no, she couldn’t let herself succumb to fear or doubt. She must not give up hope.
I will not.

Such were Maryanna’s last thoughts before her legs turned rubbery and she lost her balance, falling toward Josh as if in slow motion.

The doorbell rang at six o’clock that morning, during Jodi’s early breakfast of fresh fruit and carrot juice.
Who’s this?
She hurried to the front door, hair still damp, and Gigi the cat scampered in the opposite direction. At the door, Jodi discovered a young brunette woman holding what looked to be a bag of clothing.

“I saw your light,” said the woman, who wore a lavender skirt and soft pink blouse. “I’m Alesa Weaver, a church friend of Paige’s … hope I’m not too early.”

“No … you’re fine.” Jodi glanced at the bag.

“I’m afraid I’m lagging behind,” Alesa explained, shifting her weight and the bag of clothes. “Paige is so great about organizing benefits and clothing drives and such. I’m just now getting my act together.” Alesa held out the big bag.

“I’ll see that she gets it.”

“Oh, would you?” Alesa smiled broadly.

“Sure.” Jodi reached for the clothes.

“Thanks so much.” Alesa wiggled her fingers and turned to leave, then looked back. “Where’d they go on vacation?”

Jodi replied, “The Oregon coast.”

“Must be nice.”

“It’s certainly cooler there.” Jodi smiled.

Glancing again at the bag of clothes, Jodi turned and carried it into the house. She knew how picky Paige was about clutter, so she hauled it into the laundry room and closed the door. She’d text Paige later about Alesa’s donation—find out what to do with it.

Jodi proceeded to the hallway near the back door to do her stretches, recalling Trent’s friendly reminder. He loved her; she knew he did. But what might happen if she said no to his sudden openness to having children someday? And if she agreed despite her fears and they married, would she begin to resent her husband?

Jodi sighed and wished things might return to normal again, the way they were prior to Trent’s mentioning children. But, no, she wanted to go back even further than that, back to the way they’d been a year ago, before her sister’s diagnosis.

In spite of Jodi’s efforts to stay focused, memories of Karen
could jar her when she least expected. Sitting on the floor, Jodi brushed away tears at the thought of her sister’s horrific battle with leukemia.

Six months ago, she and Devin and her parents had scattered Karen’s ashes on a treed hillside overlooking the Connecticut River, an area Karen had loved since childhood. Yet the open wound in Jodi’s heart was still oozing. How could she ever effectively move forward with life without her sister and best friend?

Jodi raised the fragile bracelet to her lips. “I’ll never forget you, Karen.”

She returned to her stretches. When she was adequately limbered up, she filled her hydration pack with ample amounts of ice and clipped her cell phone onto her shorts, thankful for these first few hours of cooler temperatures.

Gigi reappeared, padding down the stairs. “I’m heading out for my run,” she told the cat while she put up her hair. “You’ll have the place to yourself, so mind your p’s and q’s, okay?”

Then Jodi was off, out the back patio door and down the gently sloping lawn to the narrow road. Her goal was fixed clearly in her mind: nine miles without stopping.
No matter what!