Please, God, watch over Grace and keep her safe. Ben stood at the door of the smokehaus until Grace was out of sight. He blew out a breath. Sending her to get help was the right thing to do. Now maybe the knot in his stomach would untangle.
Or maybe not.
A silhouette, too tall and broad-shouldered for Erma, shadowed the kitchen window. He should have sent Grace earlier and looked for the supplies himself. It would have given her more time. But stalling too long would put Erma in greater danger.
Ben repositioned the package of bacon, the jerky, and the bundle of balsam wood in his arms. The shadowy figure had moved away from the kitchen window. Did it mean he was no longer standing guard? On his way out of the building, he spotted an axe leaning against the chopping block next to the woodshed. He ventured in that direction while keeping his gaze fixed on the house for any suspicious movement. He grabbed the axe by its handle and hurried to the house.
On the porch, he faltered, axe in hand. It was difficult to assess the situation from outside. He couldn’t risk endangering Erma more. He propped it up against the side of the house next to the window in the sitting room and whispered a prayer that it would go unnoticed.
He turned the doorknob slowly and eased open the door to keep it from squeaking, but as he went to close it, the man came up behind him, slammed it closed, then grabbed him by the shirt with one hand while clutching the empty cookie jar with the other. The man shoved him into the other room. Ben held his hat in place, but the package of bacon slipped from his grip.
He thumped Ben’s chest, sending him a few steps backward. “What took you so long?”
Ben motioned to the package of meat on the floor. “I wanted to bring you the largest package of bacon. I know you’re hungry.” He craned his neck toward the kitchen. Where was Erma?
The man combed his fingers through his hair and turned in a wide circle. He repeated the action, only this time in the opposite direction. He stepped closer to Ben, aimed his steely gray eyes at him, and shouted, “Stop looking at me!”
“Sorry.” Ben lowered his head and shuffled a few steps backward when the man wasn’t looking. He was closer to the kitchen, but he didn’t dare turn around.
The man mumbled to himself and paced the room.
Footsteps sounded behind Ben and stopped beside him. He glanced sideways without lifting his head and recognized Erma’s dress. She took a few more steps, then stooped down next to the package of bacon and picked it up. “I’ll let you know when the meal is ready.” She turned around. “Ben, I’ll need you to bring the wood into the kitchen.”
He stole a glimpse of the man still talking to himself as he paced. He didn’t seem to notice Erma enter or leave the room. Ben turned slowly and went into the kitchen.
He rushed to Erma standing beside the stove. “Are you okay?”
“Jah, toss the wood pieces into the stove.” She unwrapped the bacon.
Ben opened the side compartment of the cast-iron stove. Flames shot out at him and he leaned back. “You have a gut fire.”
“Do as I say, sohn.” She layered the strips of bacon in the fry pan.
Ben broke the twine binding on the bundle of wood. Feeling a waxy coating on the wood’s surface, he looked at Erma and lifted his brows.
She nodded. “You’ll want to open the flue all the way.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about woodstoves.”
“Turn the disc to the right. It’ll create an updraft so the smoke goes out the chimney better.”
He turned the lever and the metal disc inside the stovepipe flipped.
“Nau put the wood in.”
Ben followed her instructions and loaded all the wood that would fit. He placed the other pieces in the woodbox. “I sent Grace to get help,” he whispered.
“Gut.” She flipped over the sizzling bacon with a fork. “I think he’s eaten too many sweets. He hasn’t stopped pacing and he keeps mumbling something about a buried treasure.”
“I wondered what he was saying.” Ben tiptoed to the kitchen’s entrance and peeked around the corner. The man was deep in his own world, still talking to himself, still pacing. Ben went back to the stove. “I think we could sneak out without him noticing.”
A surge of adrenaline kept Grace pushing forward when her leg muscles burned and threatened to seize. She stumbled over a rotted log and scuffed the heels of her hands when she fell. She pushed herself back up. Fire shot through her hip. She pressed her hand against her side and limped forward. “Lord, mei legs ache. I memorized Your Word about Your grace being sufficient for me. I know Your power is made perfect in mei weakness, but Lord, I need strength to finish this journey. I need Your power to dwell in me. Aenti Erma and Ben are relying on me.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, louder and longer. God was near. Peace washed over Grace as another scripture came to mind. Praise the Lord, because He heard my prayer for help. The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust Him, and He helps me.
Branches snapped. A deer, she told herself. Branches crunched somewhere close. She scanned the surroundings. Nothing. But as the sound grew louder, every fiber in her body charged.
She sprinted.
Her labored breaths filled her ears.
Keep going.
Her side cramped. She doubled over, clutching her side and panting quick breaths. The stabbing sensations didn’t ease. She screeched in pain.
A hand smelling of nicotine came from behind, covered her mouth, and slammed her against a man’s chest. He tightened his hold over her mouth and jerked her around to face him.
He wasn’t the same man—the one who clutched the cookie jar like it was a treasured possession. His breath was a putrid mixture of stale tobacco and poor hygiene, and his clothing smelled sour like a stagnant pond. His unkempt hair had pieces of straw, which led her to believe he’d been sleeping in someone’s barn. She assessed his lanky build. Her brothers could wrestle him to the ground and hog-tie him in seconds. But her brothers weren’t here. Neither was Ben.
“Help! Hel—” A hard blow to the mouth sent her whirling to the ground. Sprawled out and breathing in the scent of the loamy earth, he planted his knee just under her ribs and pressed hard. At the same time, he clasped his hand over her mouth. Unable to fill her lungs completely, she wheezed for air. Her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal and white spots filled her vision. Was this it? How she would die?
He released the pressure, stood, then jerked her off the ground. “Where were you going?”
“To see”—she cleared her throat—“a neighbor. I-I wanted to borrow something.”
He wrenched her arm behind her back and pushed her forward. “Change of plans.”
Grace’s vision blurred, but prodded toward the house, she managed to stay one step ahead. After a time, her joints were so swollen, she had to slow down. He shoved her, launching her into a pile of brush.
“Get up.”
Her leg muscles quivered and refused to cooperate. “Give me a minute. Please.” She needed time to think. If she could get away, Emery and Susan’s house was close. She would have to cut through the patch of thorny blackberry bushes to go this way, but—but she couldn’t risk subjecting her sister-in-law and nephews to the stranger. Why did the nearest Englischer farm have to be so far away?
He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and dangled it between his teeth as he struck the match. With his hand cupped to block the wind, he lit the cigarette, then tossed the match over his shoulder. “Get up.” Thick smoke escaped his mouth. “Now!”
Lord, where are You? Can’t You see that I’m spent?
Thunder clapped and the sky darkened. A strong breeze swept through the woods. She pushed off the ground and continued the course. If she paced herself, maybe God would give her the opportunity to get away. The man was breathing harder, puffing on the cigarette.
She came to the path that ran from Mattie’s house to hers and stopped.
“You should know your way home,” he growled. Apparently, he did too. He pushed her to the right.
Grace walked several feet before she noticed the faint smoke up ahead. Green. She smiled.