Joe watched from the front door as Rachel got into her squad car and drove away. In some ways, it was a relief having Rachel know his identity. Life would be much easier without having to sidestep Rachel’s suspicions. He was proud of her for not getting all weird and fawning when she discovered who he was.
On the other hand, someone else knowing his identity was a worry. Although he desperately wanted to trust her, he had no real assurance that she would not confide in someone else. It would only take one slip of the tongue.
He closed the door behind her and locked it. Unlike the Troyer sisters, he felt strongly about locking doors. Then he scooped up Bobby, who had fallen asleep in front of the DVD player. He carried him into his bedroom, tucked the covers around his sleeping child, and then wound up Abraham’s old Regulator wall clock that he’d brought from the kitchen to Bobby’s room. Its tick-tock and hourly chimes seemed to soothe the child.
It was only seven o’clock. Too early to go to bed and too late to work outside. With Bobby asleep, an entire evening stretched before him—plenty of time to finally delve into Abraham’s library. He was surprised how much he was longing to do so.
He went into the study, lit a lamp, and stood before the bookcase, deciding what volume to choose. A fat tome on biblical archaeology caught his eye. Archaeology had been a favorite subject of his back in college. He pulled the book off the top shelf and lost himself in uncovering the layers of Jericho.
For a few blessed minutes, his mind escaped the memories of Grace and his worries about the future. He was in ancient Jericho, hearing the trumpets blasting and the shouts of the Israelites, and experiencing the triumph of the Lord. He turned the page…and stopped. Between the pages lay a worn twenty-dollar bill.
Had someone used it as a bookmark? That seemed odd. He started to lift it out and discovered a minuscule drop of rubber cement holding it to the page. He removed the money and rubbed off the rubbery substance with his thumb. Had Abraham deliberately glued money to the page?
At that moment, he heard what sounded like a scratching noise coming from near the window. He glanced up and saw nothing there. Then he heard the noise again.
An animal? A branch?
There weren’t any branches touching the windows, that he had noticed. He blew out the kerosene lamp and went over to the window hoping to see what was making the noise.
In the moonlight, he could make out the figure of someone standing near the wooden bench in the rose garden. It was a young girl, and she appeared to be pregnant.
He opened the back door and stepped outside.
She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, and, in spite of her pregnant bulk, she quickly put the bench between them.
Her hair was long and falling into her face. Her eyes were huge, staring at him in what appeared to be near-terror.
He stood very still. “Can I help you?”
“Are—are—you Amish?” She took two steps back, putting even more distance between them. “Amish don’t hit people, do they?”
She was terribly young, no more than fourteen or fifteen. He hoped she wasn’t younger. She held her arms protectively around her stomach.
“The women who live in the farmhouse are Amish,” he said. “I’m just the handyman, but I don’t hit people either.”
Her panic was evident. She cast glances around her as though preparing to flee.
Joe used his gentlest voice. “I’ll help you if you’ll tell me how.”
She shook her head, as though dismissing the idea of help from him.
Her face was swollen and bruised. There were black and blue marks up and down one arm. He felt a slow rage building but was careful to hide it. Anger of any kind, even anger on her behalf, would send this girl running off into the night—possibly back to whoever had done this to her.
He remembered a young dog that had come into his yard once, abused and half-starved. It had craved help but had kept its distance. It had taken several hours before the dog trusted him enough to let him pet it. He had won that trust by slow movements, a low voice, and food. This girl’s actions reminded him of that abandoned dog.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Her eyes darted to the window and then back to him. She nodded, slowly.
“Why don’t you sit on the bench. I’ll fix you a sandwich and”—his mind searched his refrigerator—“some milk. Maybe you’d like some cookies?”
She stared at him, longing and fear warring in her eyes.
“I won’t come near you,” he promised. “I’ll just bring it out and set it down.”
She hesitated but nodded again.
He went back into the house and rushed to the refrigerator, afraid the girl would disappear while he was inside.
He considered running next door to the aunts but was afraid the girl would bolt at that too. Besides, they retired early. He was also reluctant to bring such pain into the aunts’ lives.
Rachel could handle the situation, though—and well.
He checked his cell phone. The battery was low, but there was enough to make a phone call or two. He made a mental note to start the truck and recharge his phone with the truck battery before the night was over.
He dialed Rachel’s number, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he slapped Trail bologna on bread and poured a glass of milk.
“Come on, Rachel, pick up. I need you,” he muttered.
“Hello?”
The sound of her voice made him close his eyes in relief. “I have a pregnant, abused girl over here behind the daadi haus. She’s scared to death, and I think she might run if I get near her. Could you come over? She might trust a woman more. I hate to involve your aunts in this unless I have to.”
“Where did she come from?”
“I don’t know, but she said she had heard that the Amish don’t hit people.”
“I wish that were always true,” Rachel mused. “I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks.” Joe didn’t have a tray in his kitchen, but he did have a wooden cutting board. He put the girl’s sandwich on it and added a handful of chips along with some of Lydia’s sugar cookies and a large glass of milk.
He balanced the cutting board against his chest as he opened the back door and eased out into the garden. The girl was still there. She had seated herself on the bench but half rose as he approached her.
He stopped. “If you want to move away while I lay this on the bench, I’ll understand.”
She scooted to the very end of the bench, as far away from him as she could get without falling off.
He set the food down and stepped back while she fell upon it. She gobbled the sandwich, devouring it in four bites. He eased down onto the far side of the bench as the girl lifted the glass of milk and drained it without taking a breath.
“My name is Joe,” he said.
The girl crunched a potato chip and seemed to think that over.
He tried again. “What’s your name?”
She took a bite out of a sugar cookie. He knew she was debating whether to tell him anything. He waited in silence, letting her sort it out.
“Stephanie.” She brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Those are really good cookies.”
“I think so too. Stephanie is a pretty name.”
She peeked through her long bangs at him. “I was named after my papaw.”
“Where is your papaw, honey?”
At that the girl began to cry. She cried like the child she was, with total abandon.
He was afraid to touch her, to comfort her. And yet it seemed calloused not to. It was a relief to hear Rachel’s car pulling into the driveway.
The girl’s head lifted at the sound, like a little animal preparing to run. With all his heart, he hoped Rachel wasn’t in uniform. He didn’t think she would be, but he wasn’t sure. She hadn’t mentioned if she’d be working tonight. He also hoped she hadn’t driven her squad car. He felt that any sign of authority would terrify this girl.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I called a friend of mine to help you. She’s very kind.”
The girl’s eyes were huge as she waited for Rachel to appear—but she didn’t bolt.
“Thank You, Jesus,” Joe whispered when he saw Rachel. She wore old, ripped jeans and a soft-looking lavender sweater. Her hair was down, and she wore sneakers. She looked as though she could be anyone’s big sister.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said to the girl. “My name is Rachel. Looks like you could use a friend.”
It was exactly the right thing to say. Stephanie immediately fell into Rachel’s arms. Rachel rocked her and smoothed the girl’s hair with her hand.
“It’s okay,” she crooned. “It’s going to be okay.”
“He threw me out of the car,” the girl said. “Like I was garbage. He said he loved me. He said he would take care of me. He had a place over in Pennsylvania where we could be happy.”
“Who did this to you, sweetie?”
“Last night?” The girl answered her with what sounded like a series of questions. “We got into an argument? And he hit me and then he stopped the car and made me get out? Then he drove off… .”
She buried her head in Rachel’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Rachel said.
“No! I’m fine.” She had cried so hard that she began to gag. She doubled over, put both hands on her knees, and retched.
“Shh, it’s all right.” Rachel patted her back. Her eyes locked onto Joe’s. Pity and concern for this girl formed a palpable bridge between them.
“Where’s your folks, honey?” she asked when Stephanie had calmed down.
“I—I don’t have any.”
Once again a telepathic look passed between Rachel and Joe. Maybe the girl was lying. Maybe she was telling the truth. The one thing both of them were certain of was that she was so upset, she was on the verge of going into a complete meltdown.
Rachel looked into her eyes. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I have a really good idea. Why don’t you come home with me? I was just getting ready to watch a movie and was wishing I had someone to watch it with. We’ll make some popcorn, you can take a bubble bath, I’ll let you sleep in my guest bedroom, and we’ll sort all this out in the morning after you’ve rested. Okay?”
“A movie?” There was longing in the girl’s voice.
“I probably have a couple of Snickers in the fridge too. Looks to me like you could use some chocolate. I’ve heard that chocolate makes happy babies. When are you due, honey?”
The girl shyly laid a hand on her protruding stomach. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen a doctor.”
Another look of concern passed between Rachel and Joe. She turned her attention back to the girl.
“Okay, then. Joe, do you have a shirt or something she could wear to sleep in? I don’t think any of my tops will fit her.”
“Absolutely.” Grateful for an errand, he ran into the cottage and grabbed one of his extra-large T-shirts. As petite as the girl was, he thought his shirt would envelope her—even pregnant. He came back out as Rachel was tucking the girl into her Mustang.
“Here.” He handed the shirt to Stephanie through the window.
“Thanks.” She struggled to buckle the seat belt around her stomach.
“You’re welcome.” He reached in and held the belt strap out away from her until she could fasten it. “I’m glad you came to my house for help.”
“Me too.” She gave him a shy smile.
He ducked his head lower so he could see Rachel. “I’ll call you later.”
She glanced up at him with her hand on the ignition key. “I’d appreciate that.”
As he watched the silver blue Mustang drive away, he thought about how well it matched its owner. Classic, quick, sleek, unique, dependable. And although he would never have believed it the first time he met her, he was enormously grateful to have Rachel in his life.