Where Grace Abides (14 page)

And at this moment, every instinct within Rachel screamed that something was wrong. Perhaps
very
wrong.

Phoebe Esch lay in a cold and wet place.

Her bed was rain-soaked and hard. It felt rough and scratchy, like an old wooden floor. Something scraped and scurried in the darkness as the wind whispered through the walls.

The voices she thought she heard a moment before were gone now,
and the quiet was unrelenting. Something silent but threatening seemed to surround her, in front and behind and all around. The only thing she could hear was her own breathing, a heavy, wheezing sound. Her head pounded with pain, as though she'd been struck by one of the big river rocks.

She heard the rain hammering overhead. The darkness was thick and unrelieved. She could see nothing. And she was cold. So cold she couldn't stop shaking. Her body ached all over, as if she'd been thrown from a high place.

She stared into the blackness, listening, not wanting to know what the rustling sound nearby might be. Fear propelled her to push herself up with her hands, to wait, suspended there until the dizziness passed and she was able to clamber the rest of the way to her knees and wait again.

A wave of nausea flooded her. She gasped for breath, reached to yank the binding from her mouth.

Finally she managed to stand. She swayed but didn't fall, waited for her head to clear, all the while trying to ignore the pounding at the back of her skull.

Gradually the pain ebbed a little. Trembling as much from fear as the cold, she rubbed her arms and discovered that her coat was gone. She lifted a hand, only to realize that her
kapp
was also missing, her hair unbound and falling free.

Even terrified as she was, she cringed inwardly at the burden of this disgrace.

Inconceivably she felt the cold, wet boards under her feet. Where were her shoes? She'd worn them when she left for Rachel's earlier in the evening. She knew she had!

And where was she? How did she
get
here?

Slowly her eyes focused but not enough that she could make out any real shapes, nothing but shadows.

She started to creep across the floor, carefully putting one foot in front of the other, shaking so violently she lost her balance and
nearly fell. She did stumble but put a hand out in front and touched a wall, regaining her balance.

The same rough wood as that of the floor scraped her hand. She felt her way along the wall, not able to see it but relying on her sense of touch to guide her.

Finally she came to what she thought was a door. She found a crossbar and tried to slide it. It moved easily, but when she pushed on the door, it didn't give.

She pushed again. It still didn't move. Desperate now, she began to pound on the wood with her fists.

Nothing.

She threw herself against the door with the full weight of her body, sending a hot arrow of pain blasting up her shoulder. But the door held firm, unmoving.

Like a prisoner, she was locked in a dark, unknown place that reeked of mold and animal droppings and rot.

Panicked, desperately fighting to keep her mind from snapping, she hammered on the door with both fists over and over again.

Finally she began to scream.

 
16
 
W
HEN
D
ARKNESS
C
AME
D
OWN

Tick-tick tick-tick! Not a sound save Time's,
And the windgust as it drives the rain…

J
AMES
C
LARENCE
M
ANGAN

D
avid Sebastian wasn't given to nerves, but at the moment an oppressive sense of dread was crawling up his spine.

It was partly the night, he supposed. The unyielding darkness, the drumming rain, the silence that enveloped their surroundings.

He thought it might also be the product of these past months of harassment endured by the entire Amish community. These good people, who wanted only to keep to themselves and mind their own business, who wished no harm to anyone and wouldn't even retaliate when treachery of the worst sort was inflicted upon them, seemed caught in the grip of a strange and relentless malevolence.

Phoebe Esch was one of the finest women imaginable. Salt of the earth type and all that, for whom kindness and goodness were the only way of life she knew. Phoebe would give her last loaf of bread to a stranger even if she knew it would mean hunger for herself. She would never turn down one in need, whether the person was Amish or
Englisch.
She could no more refuse to lend a helping hand than she could walk away from a fire in her own house without trying to extinguish it.

That something might have happened to her—something harmful, perhaps yet another act of violence by the same mean-spirited, irresponsible ones behind the other trouble that had been visited on the Amish—was unthinkable. If that should be the case, however, it was time to make the authorities take notice and finally respond.

As far as David was concerned, the law had failed the Amish time and again in this matter, and now the danger was obviously escalating. Something had to be done on behalf of these nonviolent people. He knew there was a certain amount of resentment toward them because they lived a life of pacifism and refused to defend themselves—or others among them. There was always quite a lot of bitterness, even outrage, about the Amish refusal to take up arms, no matter the situation.

But David believed—and had always believed long before he made the decision to convert to the Amish faith himself—that the Plain People should be allowed to live the nonviolent life their faith prescribed. He had seen no evidence in his lifetime that violence or war or conflict served any purpose or brought any long-lasting solution to the problems of individuals, communities, or nations. Mostly it maimed and destroyed.

That there was a certain measure of apathy on the part of some when it came to investigation and the pursuit of justice for attacks against the Amish he didn't question. Throughout his years as a physician to the Amish as well as the
Englisch,
he'd seen more than enough evidence of it. It wasn't widespread—but it existed, and indifference did seem to be showing itself in the total lack of progress that had been made in finding the perpetrators of these hateful crimes against the Plain folk of Riverhaven.

Before he took his vows and became a full-fledged member of the Amish church—in other words, while there might still be hope that the authorities would listen to him more closely—he was resolved to push and push hard to get something done on behalf of the Amish.

Two officials and their families were patients of his. Perhaps he'd be able to get their attention.

He swallowed against the knot in his throat as he acknowledged the futility of his resolve being any help with the problem at hand—finding Phoebe Esch.

Beside him, her obviously worried husband drew a long, ragged breath and cracked his knuckles.

David turned toward him, forcing a firm note into his voice. “We'll find her, Malachi. We'll find Phoebe.”

He noted that Malachi didn't look any more convinced than David felt.

Phoebe Esch finally gave up screaming for help. On such a night as this, who would be out in the weather to hear her cries?

She turned, standing with her back toward the door. Until now she had tried to ignore the strange sensation that every time she moved, something behind her made a rustling sound. But there it was again—the soft, whispering sound of something at her back.

There
was
something behind her. Slowly, carefully she twisted her arm and fumbled for her back, but she was stiff and sore and couldn't reach far enough around to feel anything.

Suddenly the terrifying thought seized her that something was
on
her back, clinging to her. She felt sick, dizzy with weakness and fear, and strangely weightless. Her head began to swim.

Mustn't panic…Wherever I am, the Lord God is with me. I'm not alone…Never alone.

She tried to pray, but the words in her mind were little more than rambling spurts of desperation making little sense.

She jumped when something moved in a corner across from her, a short, scraping sound. Overhead, rain continued to pound the roof.

So cold she could scarcely get her breath, Phoebe hugged her arms tightly around herself.

Malachi—he would come looking for her when she didn't come home. ‘Course he would. She tried to think how long she might have been here, but she had no sense of time.

But Malachi wouldn't come right away. He'd simply think she and Rachel had got to talking and lost track of time, the way they did sometimes.

But if it was late, if it was bedtime, he'd come. He'd know she wouldn't stay out as late as that.

In her mind she willed him to come.

She was shaking so hard now it hurt, as if every bone in her body was bruised. The wind whistled down the side of the building as though looking for a place to gain entrance. Again came the scraping from the corner. It sounded closer now. Was it coming toward her?

She whipped around and again began to pummel the door with her fists, trying to ignore the rustling at her back, the scratching sound that was definitely closer, the stench that seemed to seep into the pores of her skin.

She screamed and pounded, crying now as panic flooded her. Her vision blurred, her fists raw and burning, she continued to cry out and hammer at the door as hard as she could.

A sudden blast of pain shot down her arm, shoulder to hand, stealing her breath.

Fire exploded in her chest.

Phoebe fought for breath as darkness came down and claimed her.

 
17
 
S
EARCHING THE
N
IGHT

The storm was blowing wild…

J
OHN
E
GLINTON

W
hen they still hadn't found Phoebe by midnight, they returned to Rachel's house, gathering in the kitchen to discuss their options, knowing very well they had only one.

“I know everyone's been in bed for hours by now,” David said, “but we need to gather the People. We simply can't cover enough area by ourselves.” He turned to Rachel. “You have a bell in the yard—like your mother has at her place?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, and it doesn't matter about the time or the weather. The People will come.”

“Yes, I know they will. Rachel, I'm sure you're chilled. You'll need to change into some dry clothes and get something hot to drink. And Susan, in the meantime, would you see if you can get Malachi to drink something as well. I know there's no point in trying to talk him out of going with us again, but we need to get him home so he can at least change into some dry clothes.”

Phoebe's husband was a pitiful sight, seated on a chair at the table, staring at his hands as if unaware of where he was or those gathered at the other side of the room.

“There's already coffee, fresh-made. You must have some too, David. You're drenched.”

“The bell first,” he said, heading toward the door.

David
was
drenched and achingly cold as well. But with every minute that Phoebe Esch remained missing, the shadows of dread that had been building all evening deepened. By now the sense of urgency that they
must
find her, and find her soon, pressed so heavily upon him that he felt almost ill with the weight of it.

He no longer feared that something bad had happened to Phoebe. No, by now every instinct in him virtually shouted the fact that something
had
happened, that she was indeed in trouble somehow, somewhere. He could only hope and pray they would manage to find her before the
worst
happened.

He was so cold he trembled. But when he began to pull on the bell rope, he knew it wasn't the chill in the night air that had set his hands to shaking.

Standing in her bedroom as she finished changing clothes, Rachel fretted over her mother's insistence that this time
she
would accompany the others on the search for Phoebe, while Rachel stayed here with Fannie. She knew from experience, though, that when Mamma took on that tone, there was no arguing with her.

She hated the idea of her neighbors being called out again and at such a late hour. This was the second time in less than three weeks a bell had clanged in the night, summoning the People for help.

But even as she worried over the need that demanded the community's help again so soon, she knew there would be no impatience or resentment among those good friends who seemed never to think of themselves before others. They were a family, these Riverhaven Amish, a family who would unfailingly shy away from
causing
trouble but would never shy away from helping their neighbors when trouble came
upon
them.

What a comfort it was, this quickness of like-minded friends and family to come when needed, to offer assistance almost before it could be asked.

Yet in the midst of her warm thoughts about her good-hearted neighbors, Rachel couldn't shake the creeping sensation of fear that whispered at the fringes of her mind. She wasn't fooled by this brief respite in the haven of her bedroom. Outside something dark and sinister was at large.

If Phoebe had simply fallen along the road somewhere between Rachel's home and her own, they would have found her. They had covered the area thoroughly and more than once.

The reality was that her dear and closest friend was missing. Somewhere between here and Phoebe's, something had happened, and it could only be something bad.

She shuddered as she secured her hair under a clean
kapp.

If only Jeremiah were here. What a difference his presence would make.
The thought startled her. There it was again, that same longing and need for Jeremiah she had felt earlier.

It wasn't as if he could do anything to change the situation. His being here wouldn't make any difference in whatever had happened to Phoebe, nor was it likely that he would know any more about where to search for her than Rachel herself or anyone else would.

Even so, she craved his strength, his cool head, his way of looking at all sides of a situation without judging. Most of all she longed for the special way he had of infusing calm into most everyone around him.

With Jeremiah the People had come as close as they had ever come to trusting an
auslander
—an outsider. Only Doc Sebastian had been more completely respected and accepted in spite of being
Englisch.

If only the bishop hadn't refused to allow Jeremiah's conversion, he might have been on the way toward becoming one of them by now. He could have been studying their ways and the language and
the other many aspects of living Amish. And Rachel wouldn't be forbidden to at least be his friend. Or even his wife.

Things being what they were, Jeremiah wouldn't even know something had happened to Phoebe. They had trusted each other, those two, what with Phoebe being a part of Jeremiah and Asa's work with the runaway slaves.

No one knew, other than Rachel and her mother, of the Esches' involvement in helping the poor fugitive slaves trying to make their way to freedom in the North. But Jeremiah knew, and he would want to help however he could.

Caught up short by the direction her thoughts had again taken, she determined to stop them. She couldn't take on so in her mind every time there was trouble, always wishing Jeremiah were here. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.

Her reasons for wanting him close were selfish ones, that's all. She had to ignore the troublesome thoughts that defied what the bishop had ordered.

She offered another prayer—one of the many she had sent up this night—for Phoebe's safekeeping. Then, hearing voices downstairs that told her the People were starting to arrive, she pulled in a long, steadying breath and reluctantly left the room to see her friends and neighbors off on the second search of the night.

When David stepped outside again, he was relieved to see that the worst of the storm had weakened to a steady but easier rain, without the thunder and lightning and strong winds. The fanciful thought whisked through his mind that perhaps the gentling of the night would also herald something good for their search.

His heart swelled—not in surprise but in a mix of relief and thankfulness—to see the buggies lined up along the road near the
house. Some were still driving up, while others came on foot, in spite of the rain. As he'd known they would, the Amish were rallying.

Faces were solemn as they gathered round, with no time wasted on greetings. As soon as David filled them in on Phoebe's disappearance, they divided themselves up into groups and briskly filed off, going back to their buggies or taking to the road on foot once again.

At nearly three in the morning, David knew they needed to stop, at least until daylight. The People were cold, wet, and exhausted. He was mindful of his own weariness, and he was beginning to feel unwell. But most of all, he worried over Susan. She couldn't be otherwise than chilled and damp from the rain, though he'd managed to convince her to stay in the buggy during those times he got out to scout an area.

More than her physical well-being, however, her emotional state concerned him. The longer they searched, the more tense and distraught she became, until he suspected she was on the verge of being ill with anxiety. She loved Phoebe Esch like a sister. They had shared a devoted friendship for years, and Susan's own tender heart would surely be shattered if Phoebe should come to any serious harm.

He decided to cross the covered bridge again. This time he would investigate the old abandoned mill house. If he found nothing, they simply had to turn back.

But when he said as much to Susan, she protested vigorously and clutched his arm. “We can't stop looking, David! She has to be out here somewhere!”

This time out, Malachi had gone with his son Reuben, who had come on foot but now drove the buggy for his father and himself.

David was somewhat relieved that he could speak more openly to Susan than he might have, had Malachi been privy to their conversation.

“Susan—dear, I'm afraid we've done all we can for tonight. We need to go to the authorities first thing in the morning and report Phoebe missing.”

A stricken look crossed her face. “Oh, David, she'd hate that so! Phoebe wouldn't want anyone but the People involved in this. You know how private she is.”

David considered just how to say what he felt needed to be said. “Susan, I hate this as much as you do, but I can't see that we can do anything more than what we've already done. I honestly believe we have to consider the possibility that Phoebe has been abducted.”

“Oh, David! Surely not! Who would do such a thing? Phoebe has no enemies!”