Sixty-four hours missing
The river moved with an uneasy restlessness. Wind whipped the surface into waves more befitting a lake. The brown current boiled with turbulence. The eddy near the bank formed a whirlpool, sucking leaves and debris into the depths. The family of muskrats that had been living in a push-up near shore had moved to the marsh across the road. Even the red-shouldered hawk that had nested in the birch tree had left for higher ground.
Something coming, she thought.
Sadie Stutzman stood on the back porch and watched the water slither past the muddy bank. Dawn teased the horizon above the treetops to the east. Snow pattered the brim of her winter bonnet and dampened the shoulders of her shawl, but she barely noticed the cold or wet.
She loved the river. The sight of it. The smells. She loved the land with its fickle ways and hidden threats. She’d been born here, raised in this very house. She’d been married in the old barn, which had been swept away by the river going on thirty years ago. She’d lost her husband here a decade ago. Somehow, she’d grown old. This morning, watching the water that was as cloudy and troubled as her own mind, she knew she would probably die here, too. Such were the joys and agonies of life.
Taking a final look at the river, she pushed open the door that took her into her small kitchen. In anticipation of the snow, she’d pulled the last of the mint from the little patch that grew along the side of the house. Tearing off a few leaves, she dropped them into a mug and poured hot water from the teapot she kept simmering on the stove. Mint tea always calmed her. This morning, with her mind in turmoil, she figured she might need two cups.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the English policewoman who’d come to her, asking questions, digging up things she had no business digging into. The woman had no idea what she was doing. If she wasn’t careful, Kate Burkholder was going to unearth something awful. Something dangerous. Dummkopp, she thought. Idiot. It was a harsh judgment; the woman was just doing her job. She had no way of knowing that the truth would only make things worse. That some questions were best left unasked.
The exchange haunted her throughout the night. If only she could hurl the memories into the water and let them be sucked into one of those eddies to be buried in the mud and darkness. Perhaps the stroke had been one of God’s tender mercies. In His eternal kindness and wisdom, He would erase the memory of that night, of what she’d done. What they’d done. He would ease her pain. Forgive her. Restore the peace she’d lost seven years ago.
Thanks to Kate Burkholder, it was all coming back.
Clutching the mug of tea, Sadie shuffled through the kitchen, down the hall, and entered her bedroom. She set the cup on the night table next to her bed, lit the lantern, and opened the drawer. The sight of the notes sent a shiver through her. She picked them up anyway and read.
It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.
The Bible quote was from Deuteronomy 32:35. She’d found it in her mailbox the morning after Bishop Schwartz was killed. Most people would have laughed at such a thing, imagining some harebrained teenager playing tricks. Not Sadie. She’d known right away it was no joke. She knew who’d written it, and she knew why.
She flipped to the second note.
If a thief is caught breaking in at night and is struck a fatal blow, the defender is not guilty of bloodshed …
The threat was not lost on Sadie. The question foremost in her mind was: How did they find out? Only a handful of people knew what had been done. None of them would have talked about such a thing. Not by choice.
A seven-year-old little girl is missing. She’s Amish. Innocent.
Those were the words she couldn’t get out of her head. The words that were a knife to her heart. Sadie cursed Kate Burkholder for saying them. She cursed herself for what she’d done. For what she’d let happen. For not having the courage to tell the truth.
“You are with me, Lord, so I won’t be afraid. What can human beings do to me when I have You?” She recited the psalm from memory as she tucked the notes into the envelope. Untying the strings of her winter bonnet, Sadie slipped it from her head and set it on the rocking chair in the corner. Picking up her mug, she blew out the lantern and left the bedroom.
She knew the English policewoman would be back. Kate Burkholder didn’t have a timid spirit. Next time, Sadie would tell her the truth. She would end this. Deliver that sweet child from evil—if it wasn’t already too late.
Sadie was midway down the hall when she felt the cold air wrap around her ankles. She stopped, listening, her heart jumping in her chest. Door’s open, she thought, and she knew.
“Du dauerte iahra,” came a whispered voice from the living room. You took her.
She saw him then, a silhouette in the dim glow of lantern light. A mountain of a man, standing there, stone still. Eyes like tiny fires.
“I saved her life.” Despite the fear crawling over her, Sadie held her ground. “You’d best take her home.”
“She is home.” He started toward her. Purpose in his strides. Intent in his eyes.
Dear God.
Sadie turned and ran. But she was old. Two steps and he was upon her. A predator on prey. No chance of escape.
“I was trying to help you!” she cried.
The first blow fell upon her, sent her to her knees. Pain streaked across her scalp. The cup flew from her hand, warm tea splashing on the wall, her dress, her legs. Then she was on the floor, the carpet scratchy against her cheek. Head reeling, she looked up at him. “Please don’t hurt her!”
“Thou shalt not steal,” he said.
Before she could retort, he raised his foot, brought it down hard, and the night swallowed the day.