Her Forgotten Amish Past. Debby Giusti

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       ONE

      “Hello?”

      Becky Taylor tapped on the door of the trailer, then glanced at the Montcliff Studio van parked nearby and raised her voice to be heard over the cold wind that whistled through the tall pines.

      “Is anyone there?”

      Disheartened to have her knock go unanswered, she pulled her black cape tight around her shoulders and adjusted the starched white kapp that covered her knot of unruly hair.

      An Amish woman should be able to twist her mane into a smooth and compliant bun, her grandmother’s voice from the past challenged. Instead, Becky battled the wayward wisps that danced in the swirling wind. Raking the chestnut strands away from her face, she glanced up at the dark clouds crowding the sky and the descending twilight that brought with it the smell of November rain and musky, red Georgia clay.

      Concerned about the encroaching storm, she knocked again, then shrugged and dropped her hand to the knob that turned too easily. Needing to escape the fat drops of rain that, at that moment, started to fall, she stepped into the small entry space, fully intending to make her presence known. The sound of raised voices from a back room made her swallow down the greeting that had almost escaped her lips. Realizing she had overstepped her bounds by entering uninvited, she reached for the door again.

      Footsteps sounded behind her. She started to turn, but just that fast, something cold and hard slammed against the side of her head. A scream lodged in her throat.

      Pain, like white lightning, exploded across her forehead and ricocheted down her spine. She gasped for air and crumpled to the floor in a swirl of confusion.

      A roar filled her ears as she floated in and out of consciousness. The sounds of a struggle followed by a woman’s scream. Had she screamed? Someone lifted her hand, wrapped her fingers around a hard object and lowered her arm to the floor again. All the while, she remained dazed by pain and unable to move.

      She drifted into a numbing darkness, then jerked awake at the sound of running water as if a person was washing in a sink. She blinked to get her bearings. Her head pounded, and a cloying smell filled her nostrils and made her stomach roll.

       Air. She needed fresh air.

      Rising to her knees, she reached for the door and hoisted herself upright. An object dropped onto the rug. She glanced down, seeing the knife someone had placed in her hand. Her heart stopped as she stared for a long moment at the trellis-print carpet and the blood.

      The room shifted. Fearing she would be sick, she opened the door and stumbled down the steps, needing to get away, away from the blood and the knife and whatever had happened that she couldn’t remember.

      The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet and her feet slipped on the soggy grass. She staggered toward the dense stand of tall pine trees and hardwoods that edged the property. Her breath clouded the frosty air, and a pounding in her temple kept time with the rapid beating of her heart.

      She glanced back and gasped. A man stood backlit in the doorway. Without seeing his face, she felt his gaze and knew instinctively when he spotted her in the descending nightfall. He shouted something, then leaped forward, like a wild animal lunging for its prey.

       Run!

      She pushed through the underbrush. Tripping on a gnarly root, she caught herself, then lumbered on. Fear compressed her chest, and her lungs burned like fire, but she had to keep moving.

      From somewhere behind her, she heard a voice, calling for her to stop. She ignored the warning and pushed on. Bramble and briars tugged at the hem of her dress, catching the fabric and scratching her legs.

      Her kapp nearly slipped from her head. She grabbed for the ties, hanging unknotted at her neck and glanced back. The sound of him thrashing through the underbrush made her heart pound all the faster.

      She could hear his raspy intake of breath. He called out again, but the roar in her ears prevented her from understanding what he said. All she knew was that he was close behind her. Too close.

      If she could hear him, he could hear her.

      She turned off the path and pushed deeper into the brush. Her foot snagged on a root. She tumbled to the ground, landed on her hands and quickly climbed to her feet. She had to keep moving.

      Branches scraped her arms and caught at her cape. She raised her hands to protect her face as she continued on, afraid to stop, fearing what he would do if he found her.

      The terrain angled downward. She heard the surge of water and narrowed her gaze in hopes of seeing what lay at the bottom of the steep ravine. As if on cue, the dark clouds parted ever so slightly and a thread of moonlight shone over a rushing waterfall, swollen from the recent rain. Its beauty lost on her, she saw only the steep incline that needed to be navigated if she wished to escape. Far below, the falling water rushed into a cascading river that surged down the mountain.

      Glancing over her shoulder again, she searched for her assailant, then turned back too quickly. Her feet slipped out from under her on the rain-slick slope. She screamed as the mountain gave way, sending her tumbling, head over heels down the incline. Rocks scraped and cut her flesh as she somersaulted, over and over again until she came to a stop on a small outlay of soggy soil.

      Her shoulder hit the ground and her head crashed against a jagged boulder. Pain seared through her body. She couldn’t see or feel or think of anything that had happened. All she knew was that the darkness surrounded her like the dead of night.