Chapter 55

Samuel called off the search party, but few Amish people went home. Instead, most of the men waited in the yard and on the porch, ready to help in any way they could. Some of the women quietly brought out the leftovers that Naomi had been putting away when the boys were taken.

Those neighbors closest to the Yoders’ went home and brought back loaves of bread to slice for sandwiches and anything else they had that could be easily eaten. Fresh coffee was made. Dishes were washed and set out to be used again and again.

Their mere presence was a source of comfort. The sound of the quiet murmuring of concern enveloped Rachel and helped keep her from screaming in her frustration and fear.

And then her cell phone rang and everyone’s heads turned her way.

“Rachel!” Bertha’s voice came over her cell phone loud and clear. “Why did you not tell us that Bobby is missing!”

“I’ve had my hands full,” Rachel said. “How did you find out?”

“The Amish grapevine, of course!” Bertha said. “And in all this time you could not make one short phone call to us?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Ach! That is like those foolish people who do not pray because they do not want to bother the Lord with their troubles. I will call a driver and we will be right over.”

“No, Aunt Bertha, you know how Anna is about Bobby. I don’t think knowing he might be in danger would be good for her heart.”

“You are right. I have another idea. Carl Bateman told me last week that he has begun training that smart dog of his for search-and-rescue. It was Doctor Peggy’s idea. Perhaps he should bring Shadow and see if he can track the boys.”

“That wouldn’t do any good, I’m afraid.”

“And why is that?”

“They’ve been kidnapped. Stolen out of Ezra’s pony cart and carried away in some sort of vehicle.”

“How do you know this?”

“The kidnapper called. He wants one million dollars for each boy.”

“They want a million dollars for our Bobby? Will you and Joe give it to them?”

“Joe and I don’t have it, Aunt Bertha. Not even close.”

“Nor do Luke and Naomi.”

“I know,” Rachel said. “But right now I would do anything to get Bobby back.”

“Then we will sell the farm. We have been offered more than that for it in the past. Perhaps Luke and Naomi’s people can find the money to ransom Ezra.”

In spite of the turmoil and terror she was going through, Rachel’s heart melted at the old woman’s words. That place meant the world to Bertha, but not more to her than Bobby. Bertha would rather go homeless than risk the life of that little boy, and so would she. Rachel’s annoyance with Bertha over those yearly letters to Carl seemed childish right now.

“Don’t do anything yet…”

“The bishops want to talk with you,” Samuel said, interrupting.

“I have to go, Aunt Bertha,” Rachel said. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

Samuel took her to the back bedroom where the bishops had been meeting privately. Luke was there, along with Naomi.

“We’ve decided that we cannot afford to give the kidnappers the money,” the oldest bishop said. “Even though there are many millions of dollars in the fund.”

Rachel was stunned. The bishop was Reuben Miller. In addition to being a trustee of the fund, he also happened to be Naomi’s father…and Ezra’s grandfather.

“But the money is there!” Naomi said. “What do you mean, you can’t afford to do this, Daett?”

“If we give it to the kidnappers, word will get out,” Reuben said. “If other Englisch people find out how easily we gave in to the kidnapper’s demands, it would be open season on all of our Amish children. None of them would ever be safe again.”

“But Ezra is your grandchild,” Naomi pleaded. “The man said he would kill the children if we didn’t pay.”

“We will continue to pray that he will not,” the bishop said. “But we cannot save two lives at the expense of all the other lives we are responsible for. I am Ezra’s grandfather and my heart is breaking, but I must make decisions that are best for all, not just for my own family.”

Rachel knew that these were not empty words. In the Amish mind-set, an individual’s needs were important but never more important than the needs of their community.

“I’m calling in the FBI,” Rachel said. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“You can’t,” Naomi insisted. “You know what the kidnapper said would happen to our children if we got the authorities involved.”

“The FBI have teams that are specialists in abduction. The nearest office is in Cleveland. It is only an hour and a half away. I can have a team here in two or three hours.”

“And you have new information to give these specialists?” Reuben Miller asked. “Something that will help them find the children?”

“Not yet.”

“I think even the FBI must find a thread to tug on before they can start the unraveling.”

“Of course.”

“They will need to ask many questions of many people. I am thinking that FBI agents will not blend well into our community. They will drive government cars. They will be noticed, and quickly. Word spreads fast.”

Which would put the children at greater risk.

“Please, Rachel,” Naomi begged, “the kidnapper said he would know if we called in the police. You can’t do this.”

“I have to do what I think is best for my son.”

“Even if it puts my son in danger?”

“You seem to think these people will keep their word, Naomi,” Rachel said. “They are criminals. They will say anything. Apart from the slim hope we have if we gave into their demands for money—which we can’t do—our only chance is to find them before the deadline. I don’t have the resources to do that by myself. I have to call in help.”

“And once again, our people will be on the front page of every newspaper and on all the TV and radio stations,” Reuben said. “There will be newspeople from all over the world camped on our doorsteps, much like our Nickle Mine Amish friends had to deal with. How will that help our children? The kidnapper might feel that with so much attention, he has no option but to kill them as he threatened to do. We must keep Englisch out of this at all costs.”

“But,” Samuel’s voice was strained, “maybe if we did have the money to give them…maybe they would keep their word. Those children…”

“We must not fight among ourselves,” Reuben said sternly. “We will continue to pray and ask for the Lord’s wisdom and intervention. He is our greatest hope. Let us bow our heads as we pray for the children’s deliverance.”

Everyone bowed their heads in prayer, but Rachel’s mind was whirling. She desperately needed to do something. But what was the wisest course of action? If she did call the FBI and the kidnapper found out and did what he threatened to do, she would never forgive herself. If she didn’t call the FBI and things went bad, she would never forgive herself either.

A small cramp hit. Not a bad one, though. She ignored it and allowed her mind to keep circling the things they knew so far.

The cell phone that the kidnapper had called from was a disposable one that couldn’t be traced. They were probably still in the vicinity—at least close enough to come get the ransom money. Apparently no one had seen anything or anyone on the road. Whoever had taken the children had at least a general knowledge of the Amish culture. Perhaps he was a local. The kidnapper had not yet called her, which either meant that Bobby had chosen not to give them the number, or…wasn’t able to.

Her knees nearly buckled at the thought, but she forced herself to stay upright.

There was a scripture that kept running through her mind, the one where Jesus said it was better for a person to have a millstone tied to his neck and thrown into a lake than to hurt a child. She and Jesus definitely saw eye to eye on that issue!

Reuben cleared his throat, a signal that the group’s silent prayer was over. Daniel Hershberger, the other trustee of the fund, spoke up.

“During prayer, I thought of something else. If we were to pay the ransom but allowed no outsiders to know what happened, it might not become general knowledge after all. The kidnapper could not advertise what he’s done for fear of being caught. I think it might be our best chance of preserving the boys’ lives without endangering our other children.”

“I do not agree with this way of thinking,” Reuben said. “We cannot, as a people, justify paying criminals for their crimes.”

“Daett!” Naomi cried. “Why are you being so stubborn? This is my son!”

“And my beloved grandson.” Reuben was holding himself so rigidly, it looked as if he might break apart at any moment. “But as a bishop, I must do what I think is best. People know we are a nonviolent people, but we must not appear so weak-willed that we will give in to every ransom request an Englischer makes of us. If we were to do that, no Amish man, woman, or child would be safe from this kind of evil.”

Naomi ran from the room and Luke followed slowly. Bishop Reuben watched his daughter depart with a look of great grief on his face.

With nothing more to say, Rachel left the room as well. As a cop, she knew that Reuben had made a good decision. As a mother, she wanted to toss the two million dollars at the kidnapper and take the children and run.

“I wish I had a photograph of our son,” Rachel heard Naomi murmuring inside the kitchen doorway. “Just in case we never see him again.”

“And you think this would give you comfort?” Luke said. “I do not see that the Englisch, who have many photos, grieve any less because of it.”

Rachel overheard this and went into the kitchen. “You don’t have any photos of Ezra?”

“Luke feels strongly about obeying our church’s rule against photographs,” Naomi said. “And I have honored his wishes.”

“I think I have one,” Rachel said. “I took it one day when they were playing outside. I honestly didn’t even think about the restrictions. They were just two little boys having fun, and I wanted to remember that day.”

“Can I see it?” Naomi asked eagerly.

Rachel took out her cell phone and scrolled through the photos until she found the one she was looking for. “Here.”

Naomi stared longingly at her son’s face. “I’m so glad you have this. I will have a picture of him in case we never get the boys back.”

“We’ll get them back,” Rachel said. “When they call back to give you instructions for the drop-off, don’t tell them we can’t get the money. Tell them we are working on it.”

“Won’t that be a lie?” Naomi said.

Rachel thought of Bertha’s offer to sell their farm for the ransom money. “Not entirely. The important thing is to find out exactly where the meeting place is and when they want us there. Then I’ll scout it out and begin to prepare.”

She went out to her car, climbed in, and punched the phone number for the FBI. Regardless of what Naomi, Luke, and the bishops thought, she knew it was past time to call in the cavalry. She could not do this alone.

Carl was giving Shadow a bath in the large metal tub used to dump dirty mop water. Shadow had enjoyed his walk on the trail a little too much. He had discovered a raccoon carcass before Carl realized what he was into.

His dog seemed almost human at times, practically able to read Carl’s thoughts and anticipate his needs. Other times Shadow was all dog, and being all dog meant rolling in things that left most humans holding their nose and shaking their head in bewilderment. Why would anything want to smell like a rotting animal? Shadow definitely needed a bath before he could sleep in Carl’s room tonight.

Shadow was unrepentant. He stood in the soapy water with a goofy grin on his face, happily allowing Carl to hose him down in the janitor’s tub.

Carl was still troubled by the expression on the face of the child who had been with that woman in the gray sweater. It kept nagging him, but he kept reminding himself that there was nothing he could do about it.

He lifted Shadow, dripping, out of the tub and then stood back with a towel in front of him like a shield while the dog shook his fur and water flew around the room.

“Feel better now, Shadow?” George said as he walked into the room.

“Oh, hi, George,” Carl said. “My dog did something dumb. Why do they think it’s a good idea to roll in dead, smelly things?”

George shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do people roll around in dead, smelly things?”

“They don’t.” Carl was puzzled. “Do they?”

“If you spent much time on my side of the desk while people told me their secrets, it would seem that way.”

“What’s up?” Carl knelt down and started rubbing Shadow’s fur with the towel. “You usually don’t come around this late—especially on a Sunday after you’ve worked all day.”

“I got a call from Bertha,” George said. “She has terrible news.”

“Is Anna okay?” Carl asked. “I know they’ve all been worried about her health.”

“It isn’t Anna. It’s Rachel’s son, Bobby. He and a little Amish friend have been kidnapped. They’re being held for two million dollars’ ransom.”

Carl stopped rubbing Shadow’s fur and stood up. “What did you say?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“You heard me right. Bobby and a friend have been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. Bertha thought you and Shadow might be able to help since you’ve been training him for search and rescue. She just found out that the Sugarcreek police dog was poisoned by someone—probably the kidnapper—and is still fighting for his life.”

“You know I would do anything for Bertha, but I’ve only been training Shadow for a few weeks. It takes at least a year to train a search-and-rescue dog. He’s smart, but I don’t think Shadow is even close to being able to do that effectively.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” George said. “I’ll go tell her.”

“Wait—did you say there was another child with Bobby?” Carl asked.

“Ezra Yoder. Bobby’s best friend.”

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him.”

“Would anyone have a picture?”

“Probably not. The child is Amish…but I can call Rachel and find out.”

“If so, I’d really like to take a look at it,” Carl said. “I noticed something on the trail late this afternoon and I’m still uneasy about it. It might not have anything to do with this, but I’d feel better if I could take a look at the face of that child.”

“I’ll call her right now,” George said. “Bertha gave me Rachel’s cell phone number a few minutes ago just in case you could help.”

Carl let Shadow’s bathwater drain out of the tub while he waited for George to finish.

A few moments later George handed him his cell phone, and Carl stared into the happier face of the child he had seen on the trail. The child was wearing Amish clothing in the photograph and his hair was longer, but Carl had spent the past twenty years reading faces for his own survival, and he was absolutely certain it was the same child.

“Tell Rachel I need to talk to her,” Carl said.