Chapter 21
“Thanks, Aaron.” Joe set his duffel bag on the floor and looked around at the hunting cabin. “This is…great.”
“Are you sure?” Aaron shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, an action Joe remembered from college as a barometer of Aaron’s nervousness.
Who wouldn’t be nervous, with him and Bobby showing up out of the blue and asking for sanctuary?
His old college roommate had not inquired about, and Joe had been too tired to explain, the unusual clothing he and Bobby were wearing. That was typical of Aaron. He accepted everyone without question exactly as they were. Whether that was from compassion or disinterest, Joe had never decided. He supposed Aaron figured that if Joe felt the need to dress like an Amishman, there must be a reasonable explanation.
They had been close friends at one time, and college roommates for two years. Aaron had taken his Bible classes seriously.
Joe had not.
Aaron had tried to keep in touch, even after Joe’s star on the pro baseball circuit had begun to rise.
Joe had not.
At the time, he’d had more exciting friends to hang out with than earnest old Aaron, who was stuck in West Virginia trying to eke out a living from a little gospel bookstore.
Aaron had contacted him directly after Grace’s death, when the storm of public intrusion had been at its peak, and had once again offered Joe the use of the empty hunting cabin he had inherited from his grandfather, along with a solemn promise of privacy.
It was all that Aaron had to give, and he offered it freely.
Deep down, Joe realized he had been slowly working his way to Aaron ever since they’d left LA. His old nerdy friend and Aaron’s wife, Deborah, were Christians down to the marrow of their bones. Because of this, Joe felt he could trust them.
Aaron’s nervousness now took the form of taking his glasses off and polishing them furiously. “If I’d had any idea you were coming, I would have gotten it in better shape.” He shoved the glasses back onto his nose.
“It’s fine—just the way it is.”
With cobwebs on the ceiling, mice droppings on the floor, and an abandoned bird’s nest in the corner.
With nostalgia, Joe thought back to the clean, orderly daadi haus in which he had awakened with such hope only this morning.
“I’ll come back tomorrow and help you get it in better shape,” Aaron promised.
“Really, Aaron, it’s fine.” Joe tried to keep the exhaustion from his voice, but he was dead on his feet. “The only other thing I need from you is a promise that you won’t tell anyone we’re here.”
“We won’t.” Aaron blinked a couple of times. “But wouldn’t Bobby rather sleep at our house tonight? There’s an extra cot in our little boy’s room.”
Bobby had cried half of the way here.
“I doubt he would be willing to do that,” Joe said. “But thanks for asking.”
“It can get pretty cold up here in October.” Aaron rubbed his arms. “If you need it, there’s wood stacked outside, some kindling in the box beside the fireplace, and dry matches in that jar on the mantelpiece.”
As much as Joe appreciated what his friend was doing for him, feeling like a refugee was even more infuriating after experiencing the respite of the daadi haus and his small circle of Sugarcreek friends. He didn’t want to be here.
He was running. Again.
He hated it.
He despised what fame had stolen from him and his family. It had come upon him one ball game at a time, one fan at a time. He hadn’t awakened one morning suddenly being unable to shop for his own groceries without being accosted for autographs. Fame had grown slowly, the inconveniences offset by the riches he thought he had wanted.
Regaining his anonymity for these past few months had convinced him that the price fame had exacted wasn’t worth it. Life as a regular guy was sweet in Sugarcreek. Having tasted that sweetness, all he really wanted now was the freedom to live in that small town, where a handful of people truly cared about him. Him—not the legend.
He had fantasized about coaching Bobby’s little league team someday and having pizza with the other dads. He wanted to be able to go to a parent-teacher conference and have a teacher feel free to scold him, if necessary, over his child’s behavior. He wanted to go to church and help pass communion without people whispering about him and pointing as he did so.
He wanted to be able to open the door to the daadi haus without microphones and cameras being shoved into his and Bobby’s faces.
And he wanted Rachel. Loyal, beautiful Rachel, who had helped him even after he accused her of lying and told her to get out of his life. He had only known her a few weeks, and yet being near her had already become necessary to his happiness.
He needed Aaron to leave now so he could sort it all out. There were decisions he needed to make about his future that would take time and stillness—and most of all, prayer. His father’s weapon of choice.
“I’m really tired, Aaron,” he said. “Can we talk in the morning?”
Aaron’s troubled eyes filled with compassion. “I’ll bring breakfast. There are plenty of clean blankets and sheets in a plastic box in the closet. We keep them there so the mice can’t get into them.”
“Thanks.”
He closed and locked the door after his friend left and pulled Rachel’s phone out of his pocket along with his own. He needed to call her and let her know he was okay.
But there were no bars on either phone. They were too far into the boonies to get a signal. No landline, either. He wouldn’t be able to call her tonight.
It was astonishing how much that saddened him.
Bobby was huddled in the corner of an old couch. “I don’t like it here, Daddy.”
“Me either, son.”
“Can we go back home now? I miss my kitty.”
“It’s late, buddy. Let’s get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
Bobby stuck his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, “Can I thweep w’ you?”
It felt like being hit in the stomach with a baseball bat, watching Bobby suck his thumb and revert to baby talk again. He had been so proud of the fact that his child finally felt secure enough to sleep in his own little room at the daadi haus.
Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, made Joe’s limbs feel heavy. He was so tired of trying to protect his traumatized little boy and failing. He was so tired of trying to make decisions and finding out he’d been dead wrong.
“Yes, son.” He sighed. “You can sleep with me.”
Dear Rachel,
My amnesia is gone! I called my grandparents, and they came to get me. They said my cousin and her husband want to adopt my baby. My cousin can’t have babies of her own, so I guess this will be a really nice Christmas present for them and I can still see my little girl whenever I want to. I can’t wait to go back to school. I didn’t think I would miss it, but I do. I want to graduate from high school. I’m thinking about becoming a cop when I grow up, just like you did.
Love,
Stephanie Anne Fowler
P.S. Please don’t be mad at me.
“Her grandparents came for her?” Rachel laid the letter on the counter at the police station.
“They came in when she brought the letter, and I met them,” Ed said. “Nice people. Worried about their granddaughter. They said to give you their thanks.”
She smoothed a hand over the letter. It had been written on flowery stationary that Rachel had forgotten she possessed. The girl had also somehow managed to find a florid purple felt-tip with which to write. Typical. She wondered how many of her drawers Stephanie had dug through in order to come up with writing materials that fit her fifteen-year-old tastes.
In spite of the round, childish scrawl, Rachel was impressed with Stephanie’s literacy. There was not one misspelling. The girl would do well in school. That thought gave her comfort.
She traced her finger over the lines of the letter. “Stephanie dots her i’s with little hearts.”
“She’s a kid,” Kim said. “Probably still believes in the tooth fairy.”
“She certainly believed the fairy tale that ‘Mack’ told her,” Ed said with disgust.
“Have you given up on finding him?”
“We have no real name, no make of car, no license number, no fingerprints, no destination—and Stephanie probably wouldn’t testify against him even if we did manage to find him. There are a million guys out there just like Mack.”
Kim picked up the letter and studied it. “I think it’s interesting that she included her whole name.”
“Why?”
“Unless I miss my guess, that little girl is hoping you’ll find her. With all the information we have, it shouldn’t take long.”
“I might do that when I get over being ‘mad’ at her for selling out Joe. I have a feeling Stephanie might be an interesting person to know in a few years.”
“You probably helped her more than you know.”
“I hope so.”
During the past few hours, Rachel had seen a side of Kim she had never expected. The volunteer had been an enormous help with getting Joe out of town. It occurred to her that Kim would make a fine police officer for their town someday—if and when there were any openings.
“Thanks for helping out today, Kim. I owe you one. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”
“Well,” Kim said wistfully, “I’ve kind of been wondering. Do you suppose your aunt Lydia might ask me to come around for dinner sometime? I don’t have any relatives around here and—”
“I’m sure of it,” Rachel said. “But I’m giving you fair warning: bring some cash. There’s this orphanage in Haiti that my aunts are involved with, and Lydia’s cooking doesn’t come cheap these days… .”
“They’re like two peas in a pod,” Aaron said, watching Bobby and his son Davey build a tower out of Lincoln Logs. “I shouldn’t be surprised, with only a month’s difference in their ages.”
“You’d almost think they were twins, except for the difference in hair coloring.” Joe was enjoying the sight of his son so absorbed in play that Bobby seemed to be unaware that his dad was even in the room.
“Have you figured out what you’re going to do?” Aaron asked.
“I have an idea,” Joe said. “I don’t know if it will work.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking about something that Bertha, the old Amish lady I was telling you about, said. She told me that the way they deal with curious tourists is to simply go about their daily business. She says that when the tourists have looked their fill and asked all their questions, they lose interest. And visitors to Amish Country soon discover that the Plain people aren’t so different after all.”
“And you think that will work—for you?”
“It’s the only thing I have left. It’s either go completely public or live in some gated community for the rest of my life. Bobby deserves a normal childhood. I want to give it to him if I can. I think that childhood could happen in Sugarcreek.”
“How can I help you, brother?” Aaron’s eyes were filled with compassion.
“I need to go back and deal with things.”
“Would you like us to keep Bobby while you do?”
“I don’t think he would stay.”
Aaron watched the boys play a few more moments. “Ask him.”
Joe thought over Aaron’s suggestion. Asking couldn’t hurt. “Bobby? Come here. Daddy needs to talk to you.”
Bobby’s reluctance to come to his father was evident. He had the Lincoln Log project to complete. New puppies wriggled and whined in a basket in the corner. And there was a small homemade playground out back that he and his new friend had run to and from all morning. Aaron’s place was packed with wonderful things for a child to enjoy, and Bobby was having the time of his life.
“What, Daddy?” He glanced back over his shoulder at his playmate.
“I’m thinking about going back to Sugarcreek for a few days. Do you want to come with me?”
“Right now?” he whined.
“Yes. Right now.”
“Can’t I play with Davey some more, Daddy, please?”
“You can if you want to. Would you like to stay here a few more days? Sleep in Davey’s room? I need to leave and take care of some things.”
That got Bobby’s attention. “What things?”
“I’m going to try to make it so we can go back home and live in Sugarcreek forever.”
“Will those people go away?”
“I’m going to talk to them and ask them not to do that anymore.”
“Can Davey and his mommy and daddy come visit us?”
“Absolutely. And we’ll come here.” He glanced at his old friend. “Often.”
“It’s only a three-hour drive,” Aaron said. “If he gets upset, we’ll bring him to you.”
“I’ll call you every night, son.”
“ ’kay.” Bobby’s attention was already wandering back to his little playmate and the litter of pups.
“I think that’s a yes,” Deborah commented and smiled.
“He’ll regret it tonight when he realizes I’m gone.”
“Aaron and I will deal with it,” she said.
“I appreciate it,” Joe said. “Things might get pretty intense in Sugarcreek for a while. I’d rather Bobby not be in the middle
of it.”
“He’ll be safe here.” Deborah put her arm around Aaron’s waist. “You go do what you need to do, Joe.”
“You’ve done so much for us already, my friends. I needed a place to rest and pray and think things through, and you gave me that.”
“Brook Cherith,” Aaron said.
“Excuse me?”
“My grandfather always called his hunting cabin ‘Brook Cherith,’ after the place where the prophet Elijah rested,” Aaron said. “After which Elijah called upon the name of the Lord and overcame four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal.”
“Prophets of Baal, huh? That’s an encouraging thought,” Joe said. “Pray for me, Aaron. If what I’m planning doesn’t work, I’m all out of options.”