Plain Refuge. Janice Kay Johnson

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      “He’s a good man,” Aenti Emma said, although a hint of ambivalence remained. “He listens and understands why we won’t go to the law most of the time.”

      Rebecca nodded her understanding. Would that “good man” poke his nose in her problems? Perhaps she should take advantage of the opportunity if he did. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if he knew to watch for anyone asking about her. Even if she didn’t tell him about the unholy bargain she’d made with Tim, if the sheriff thought she was running from her ex-husband because he was stalking her, he might form another line of protection.

      But of course that would mean telling him she wasn’t Amish. Almost instantly she shook her head. What if he went looking for police records concerning the alleged abuse? Or even searched online for information about Tim? It might be the modern equivalent of yelling, Here she is. No, it would be better to stay away from Sheriff Byler, however good his intentions were.

      She had to grab the seat as the buggy turned sharply. The wheels made a crunching sound that told her they were no longer on a paved road. Peering out the small window, she saw fields of corn growing high in the August heat. Oh—and sunflowers, an entire field of them! A minute later, the crops were replaced in her view by grazing cattle. A sign for a produce stand caught her eye. This was all so familiar. Comforted, she sat back and gently stroked her now-sleeping son’s hair.

      Finally they turned into a narrow lane. Corn grew on one side, while to the other was pasture. Enormous, dappled silver horses grazed. Rebecca smiled. Onkel Samuel still bred and raised Percherons, as his father had before him. As a child, she’d been awed by the gentle giants with velvety lips and stiff whiskers and big brown eyes. They had seemed magical to her. She hoped they would to Matthew, too. He didn’t understand why they were making this trip or who these people were, but she had confidence he’d enjoy himself as much here as she had as a girl.

      Another bonus of staying here—she didn’t have to worry about Matthew getting to a phone and calling his father. She had left her cell phone behind for fear it could be used to trace them, and Sarah was the last of Aenti Emma and Onkel Samuel’s children left at home. Some Amish teenagers did have cell phones during their running-around time, but Sarah looked to be past that. Rebecca had no intention of telling Matthew about the phone in the shanty that used to be halfway between the Graber farm and the neighbors.

      The buggy swayed to a stop and Onkel Samuel got down and came around to let them out. She carried her sleeping son in her arms, though he began to awaken with the movement.

      The large farmhouse was just as she remembered it, painted a crisp white, the wide porch still holding a swing and several comfortable chairs. A small wing attached to one side of the house, the grossdawdi haus where her grandparents now lived, had its own porch. Two dogs raced toward them from the huge barn.

      “Down, down,” Onkel Samuel said, intercepting them. The dogs spun around in excitement, barking.

      Matthew tightened his grip on her neck and lifted his feet out of reach. “Mom! Do they bite?”

      Onkel Samuel set a gentle hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “No, they will be your best friends before you know it. Especially if you sneak them some treats.”

      His wife turned a look on him. “Don’t suggest he waste my good cooking on dogs!”

      He only laughed, his face creasing above the distinctive Amish beard that reached his chest. It was the clean-shaven upper lip that made it different from facial hair among the Englisch. “Boys will be boys,” he declared. “I will bring your bags once I stable Molly,” he added, and got back into the buggy. The dogs hesitated, then bolted after him as he drove toward the barn.

      “It’s so good to be here.” Rebecca’s eyes burned. She tried to smile. “Thank you for having us.”

      “You’re family,” Aenti Emma said simply.

      Sarah hugged her.

      “We can’t know God’s purpose,” Aenti Emma murmured, “but the bad things that happened brought you and Matthew to us, which is reason to rejoice. Grossmammi especially has worried about you. Letters aren’t the same.”

      “No. I wish...” Rebecca didn’t finish the thought, and saw in the two women’s kind faces that she didn’t need to.

      Just then the front door in the grossdawdi haus opened and her grandmother hurried across the lawn to envelop her in more hugs. Her grandfather followed more slowly, every breath a rasp. In the eighteen years since she’d seen them, they’d aged more than she had anticipated. Both had white hair now and looked frail. Guilt stabbed Rebecca. Why hadn’t she managed to visit? Brought Matthew sooner for them to meet?

      But her grandmother showed no hint of accusation. It would not be her way. “How often I have prayed to have you restored to us!” Her wide smile included Matthew. “And now to be able to get to know your son, as well! Such a blessing.”

      The entire family ushered her and Matthew into the house. In no time, Sarah had poured glasses of lemonade while Rebecca’s aunt and grandmother set out home-baked bread, different cheeses and cold cuts, as well as a special peanut butter sweetened with marshmallow cream. There were at least two kinds of cookies and fudge besides. Matthew’s eyes grew wide, while Rebecca knew this was a modest meal by her aunt’s standards. There would be a much greater variety at dinner.

      Matthew was initially suspicious, but he tried the strange peanut butter and grinned his approval, exposing the gaps where he’d lost baby teeth. Before she knew it, lunch was over and they were upstairs, ushered into a typically bare room with two twin beds. Sarah helped Rebecca out of her clothes, drew the curtains and left them to lay their aching bodies down to rest.

      Safe, Rebecca thought, and then sleep claimed her.

      * * *

      DANIEL THOUGHT OF the strange woman on Sunday, and even drove by Reuben Gingerich’s house where church was being held. The every-other-Sunday Amish services were held in homes or barns, the privilege of hosting it rotating among the families in each church district. A dozen or more buggies lined the fence at the top of the lane. The horses stood hipshot and lazy in the shade from a grove of old black walnut trees that Daniel suspected were quite profitable for Reuben.

      Daniel usually attended a service at the Congregational Church in Hadburg, which he had joined on his return to Henness County. The occasional Sundays he missed were understood as part of his job. Sometimes that was even true. Sometimes, he parked out of sight and walked across a field to where he could hear the Amish singing hymns, so much a part of his childhood. He never went near enough to a barn or house to chance being seen or to hear the sermons, but the singing quieted something in him even as it reawakened his sense of loss.

      It was very different from hymns sung in the Congregational and Baptist churches in town. All Amish hymns came from the Ausbund, a thick book passed down through many generations. It contained only the words, no musical scores. The singing was slow, often mournful, the voices blending together into one. An Amish would say, “One with God.”

      The familiar hymns sharpened Daniel’s emotions. Sorrow seemed strongest—or perhaps regret was a better word to describe the jagged feeling in his chest. And yet...he wouldn’t go back if he could. He still believed he had made the right decision. He was where he belonged, protecting his people but separate from them. Daniel only wished his choice hadn’t left him alone, however many friends he made, belonging neither here nor there.

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