Chapter
Nine

By the time I got back to Esther’s, Zac had caught up on my brother’s case. He ushered me into his room and shut the door.

“I don’t think we should do this very often,” I said, once the door was closed. “I don’t want Esther to think something’s going on.”

Zac snorted. “You’re not really my type.”

“Thanks. But not the point.”

“I get it.”

“I met some people in town. Got permission to do a couple of interviews. Have some ideas about what we can film. It’s still not enough. Reuben’s going to set up some other interviews for us. Hopefully, we can start filming soon.”

“Sounds good,” Zac said. He sounded distracted, and it worried me. Although my priority for being here was to find my brother, we still needed to work on the story. Ed wasn’t going to be happy to find I’d ignored his directive to avoid this town. Our only way around incurring his wrath was to do an exceptional job on the Sanctuary piece. All I could do was hope it would be enough to save our jobs.

Zac went over to his laptop, which he’d put on the bed. He’d pulled a stool up next to it to create a makeshift workspace. “I’ve found a lot of information, but I wish we could talk to someone official. It would really help.”

I pushed away my concerns about our story and switched my focus to what Zac was saying. “I have a contact in the St. Louis police department, but I hesitate to call him. We use him for news stories. If I get in touch with him, he might tell someone at the station.”

“It’s possible he couldn’t help us much anyway. The case is pretty cold.”

“I know. Besides, I’ve spent the last few years doing all the research I can. I even talked to one of the detectives that worked on Ryan’s case. I don’t think speaking to someone who had nothing to do with the original investigation would uncover anything I don’t already know.” I sighed. “It would help if Harland Burroughs, the serial killer suspected of taking Ryan, hadn’t been killed in prison.”

“Did he ever admit to kidnapping your brother?”

“No. According to the detective, Burroughs talked in length about the boys whose bodies were found. Like he was proud of what he’d done. But anytime he was asked about Ryan, he clammed up. Wouldn’t say anything. The authorities were so intent on finding my brother, they decided to offer Burroughs a deal. Life in prison instead of the death penalty. Not something they wanted to do. But in an effort to find Ryan, they were willing to try anything. Unfortunately, Burroughs was murdered by an inmate before they had the chance.”

“Why was he killed?”

I shrugged. “I guess even criminals have a code of honor. Child killers and abusers are targeted in prisons. The police suspect a guard purposely left him vulnerable, but it was never proven.”

“Well, even without talking to the police or Burroughs, it didn’t take long for me to notice something odd about your brother’s case.”

I peered over his shoulder and looked at the information he’d pulled up on his computer. “There are a lot of strange things about his abduction.”

Zac stared up at me, his hazel eyes full of concern. “Harland Burroughs killed eleven boys. Every single body was discovered. He didn’t try to hide them. As you said, he was proud of himself. So why wasn’t Ryan found? It doesn’t make sense.” He pulled up a different screen. “Here is Burroughs’s kill zone. You know that killers have an area of comfort. All the other boys were taken from this ten-mile radius. But Ryan was way out of this zone.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “Also, Ryan had brown hair. Every other boy was blond. Ryan was seven. All the other boys were between twelve and fifteen. No matter how you look at it, Ryan doesn’t fit Burroughs’s profile.”

“These are the same things I found, and the inconsistencies bothered me too.”

“Did anyone else bring this up with the police at the time?”

“I asked the detective that question. They were convinced the similarities outweighed the differences.”

“What about your parents? Did they have problems with the way things were handled?”

“I have no idea. I was just a kid when Ryan went missing. My parents tried to shield me from the details. I didn’t even know about Burroughs until I saw something on TV. My father and I didn’t talk about what happened until I was almost twenty.”

“And what did he say?”

“Not much. Just the basics. I asked him if Ryan might still be alive, but he didn’t believe it. He said Ryan would have tried to contact us.”

Zac was quiet as he considered this. “Did Ryan know his address and phone number?”

I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Our home wasn’t normal before he was taken. I get the impression most kids would be taught to memorize that kind of information, but I don’t remember anyone sitting us down and teaching us much of anything.”

Zac frowned. “What do you mean?”

I sat down in the chair across from the bed. “My father started drinking a couple of years before Ryan disappeared. Most of my mother’s attention went to him. My brother and I got what was left over. After Ryan went missing, my father stopped drinking . . . for a while. I think he was trying to be strong for my mother. Then he started up again and eventually left. My mother lost her son and her husband in the span of a few years. No one should have to go through that.”

“Maybe Ryan wanted to contact you but didn’t know how.”

“All he had to do was ask someone for help. His story was all over the media.”

Zac sighed. “Burroughs was a hot topic. The media highlighted all the boys he abducted, not just Ryan. I think your brother was lumped together with the other cases. There aren’t many stories just about Ryan. I hate to say it, but the enormity of Burroughs’s crimes may have helped to cover up your brother’s case.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” I said slowly, “but I see what you mean. Maybe someone saw him, but no one really remembered one boy’s face from the long list of pictures in the paper.” I thought a moment. “But that doesn’t explain why Ryan didn’t tell someone he needed help.”

“What about Elizabeth Smart? She was fourteen. Twice Ryan’s age. She didn’t try to get away, and by all accounts she came from a very happy family. Then there’s Jaycee Dugard and Shawn Hornbeck.”

“You’re talking about Stockholm syndrome,” I said. I took a deep breath. “All of those children were—”

Zac held up his hand. “I know that, Wynter. But not all cases of Stockholm syndrome include physical or sexual abuse. Emotional manipulation makes kids easy targets. And with problems at home—”

“Ryan would have been a perfect candidate for a kidnapper.”

“Almost makes you wonder if the kidnapper knew that.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “He just happened to pick a vulnerable kid. Who knows? Ryan might not have been his first attempt that day.”

Zac nodded. “Any reports of other children being approached?”

I shrugged. “Not that I know of. No one ever mentioned it to me.”

“So, if Ryan’s alive, and he was kidnapped, how in the world could he end up in a Mennonite town with a family that loves him?”

“I have no idea. Before they came here they lived in Jamesport.”

“The Amish town? So they were Amish?”

“No. According to Reuben, they were always Mennonite. Jamesport has Amish and Mennonite families.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d guess most kidnappers aren’t Amish or Mennonite. Kind of hard to make a getaway in a horse and buggy.” Zac stared at his computer screen for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. We’re missing something important here. What better place to hide out than in an Amish or Mennonite town? Limited media access. Not much connection to the outside world.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “It makes a strange kind of sense, doesn’t it?”

I frowned back at him. “Yes. But I just can’t see conservative Mennonite people kidnapping a young boy. Doesn’t fit with their religion.”

He snorted. “Religion. A lot of evil things have been done in the name of religion.”

I exhaled sharply. “And a lot of good has been done as well.”

He shook his head. “Let’s stay focused.” He closed his eyes for a moment, obviously thinking. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. “What if the person who took Ryan wasn’t Mennonite? What if he gave him or sold him to a Mennonite family?”

This time I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You mean like the Amish Mafia?”

“No, Wynter. I’m not joking. What if the family didn’t know he was abducted? What if they thought they were just giving him a home? The kidnapper could tell them the boy was an orphan. Maybe even set it up like an adoption.”

I stood up and walked over to the window. As I stared out at the town of Sanctuary, I tried to make sense of his question. “Why in the world would someone kidnap a child and set up a phony adoption with a Mennonite family? I don’t think most Mennonite people would have large sums of money. Couldn’t have been very profitable.”

“I know the premise is a little confusing. But you have to admit that hiding someone in a town like Sanctuary would be a great way to keep a kidnapped kid from the prying eyes of the world.”

“I . . . I guess it would, but I still think someone trying to profit from stealing a child would approach a family with lots of money. Not a simple Mennonite family.”

Zac started to say something else, but I turned and raised my hand to stop him.

“It’s almost three o’clock, and I promised Esther we’d talk.” I walked over and patted him on the back. “Look, I appreciate everything you’re doing. A lot of what you say is logical. Especially about Burroughs. Frankly, I’m beginning to think you picked the wrong side of the news. You could be a great investigative reporter.”

He smiled, but I could see the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe the money side of the adoption scenario doesn’t make sense, but the rest of it does. It’s possible there’s something else behind this besides money.”

“Thank you, Zac. I feel . . . I don’t know . . . better, I guess, having someone else to talk to. Someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy for thinking my brother might still be alive.” I was shocked to feel tears form in my eyes. I quickly turned away, but I wasn’t fast enough.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said gently. “If he’s out there, we’ll find him, Wynter.”

I nodded and left the room. Being vulnerable made me uncomfortable, but at the same time, I felt a huge sense of relief. As if the weight I’d carried around for so many years had lightened a bit because someone else was helping me carry it. Zac’s comments rolled around in my head. There certainly were secrets in Sanctuary. Could my brother be one of them?

I found Esther in the kitchen, taking cookies out of the oven.

“Wow, those smell great.”

She smiled. “These are sugar drop cookies. My mother used to make them. I think you’ll enjoy them.” She put the cookie sheet down on top of the stove. “How about some coffee?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“You go sit in the living room. I’ll bring our cookies and coffee out there.”

I headed toward her large living room. It was a room that had been lived in. Whispers from the past created pictures in my head of children running across the floor, calling out to each other. The carved oak furniture was old and beautiful, but small scratches and scuff marks from little shoes proved it was a room where life had been lived with enthusiasm. The sheer curtains covering Esther’s windows moved gently in a light breeze like ghosts from the past dancing on wisps of memories.

I thought about my childhood home. Before my father started drinking, Ryan and I had been joyful, rambunctious. I could still hear my mother yelling at us to settle down and quit running in the house, but there wasn’t anger in her voice. Just the sound of a family sharing one another’s lives. Then little by little darkness began to push out the light. Our house grew quiet, and all of us became captive to my father’s mood swings. Mom’s attempts to oblige him made her grow old right in front of our eyes.

Then one day everything was gone. First my brother. Then my father. And finally, my mother. She was alive, but only in shadows. After my father sold our home, Mother and I moved to a small tract house. No running. No laughter. Everything kept clean and in order as if a perfect environment could mend our broken hearts.

It didn’t.

Smelling moisture in the air, I went to the front door to look outside. Sure enough, dark clouds slowly rolled toward us, full of the promise of rain. As if confirming an incoming storm, a gust of wind picked up gravel and whisked it down the road in front of Esther’s house.

Standing on the porch, looking out across the small town, I felt a sense of peace. As if the problems of the world waited somewhere outside the boundaries of Sanctuary. I remembered one of my favorite Scriptures as a child: He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day. That’s just how it felt, as if God himself had created this place of safety. I stood there for a few minutes, allowing the tranquility to surround me. Although Zac’s comments confused me, there was something about standing on that porch that soothed my jumbled emotions.

As my eyes swept the empty street, I was startled to see August, the cook from The Oil Lamp Restaurant, leaning against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette. His intense expression appeared almost menacing. Could he have been outside my room last night? I still wasn’t convinced anyone had actually been there, but seeing him now made me wonder.

Feeling uneasy, I turned to go back inside, but as I reached for the front doorknob, I noticed the lid to Esther’s mailbox hanging open. Several pieces of mail dangled precariously. Afraid the wind might blow them away, I pulled everything out and closed the lid.

I was juggling them together when I noticed the top piece of mail was a large envelope with my name scrawled on it. There was no postmark. Obviously someone had stuck it in the box with all the other mail. A chill ran through me. I swung around, wondering if August had left it for me. He was gone. I looked down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even though I could no longer see him, I couldn’t shake an eerie feeling of being watched. “Get a grip, Wynter,” I mumbled to myself. I glanced down at the envelope again. Could it be another threat?

I’d just closed the door behind me when Esther came into the living room with two cups of coffee.

“I brought in your mail.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. Would you put it on the table by the door?”

I put all the other envelopes on the table but held on to the one with my name on it. “I found something in your mailbox for me.”

“I asked Martha to print up some information about Sanctuary and send it over,” Esther said. “That must be it.”

“Oh, great. Thank you.” Breathing a sigh of relief, I put the envelope on the coffee table.

Esther and I spent the next hour talking. She was a wealth of information about the town, although a lot of what she said echoed what Reuben had already told me.

Once she’d exhausted her knowledge about Sanctuary, I directed my questions toward the Mennonite Church and its beliefs. “Esther, I notice you wear a prayer covering all the time. Can you tell me why?”

“Some Mennonites wear one because it’s a tradition. Covering a woman’s head was a custom in the early church. It isn’t one now and shouldn’t be something done for the wrong reasons. I’m afraid some in our church have made it a source of pride, as if wearing a covering makes us more spiritual than others. For me, personally, I wear a prayer covering to remind myself that Christ is my head. That my life, my mind, my entire personality, is covered with His love and grace. That He is the one who covers me.” She smiled. “Does that answer your question?”

I nodded. “That’s beautiful. I have to admit I’ve wondered if your church judges those who don’t believe the same way.”

“Oh, honey. Churches aren’t judgmental. People are. Unfortunately, even in Sanctuary, I hear these kinds of blanket judgments. This church is wrong, this teacher is wrong, on and on and on. I go to only one church, and the Word of God is my teacher. I don’t throw around my opinions about others. I believe we’ll all have to give an account of our careless words someday, and I don’t want to have to explain to God why I was bad-mouthing a preacher I don’t know or a church I’ve never attended. How silly is that?”

As if emphasizing her words, the storm outside finally broke, and the sound of rain hit the roof. It was a relaxing sound. I suddenly wished I had a book to curl up with in my comfortable room.

“I hear the same thing,” I said. “I think it’s one of the reasons I haven’t been to church for so long. At work, I see enough backstabbing and gossip. Listening to it from Christians turns me off.”

“And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Esther said sadly. “It’s not a very good witness to the world.”

“No, it’s not.” Even though Reuben had answered my questions about the Fishers, I decided to broach the subject with Esther. “I met a teenager in town. Elijah Fisher? His family is conservative Mennonite?”

She nodded. “A wonderful young man. He’s a blessing to this town, and to me. Always willing to help anyone who needs it.”

“I found him interesting. You know, a teenager living such a simple life. What do you know about him? Was he raised Mennonite?”

“I don’t actually know. His family moved here when he was young. Maybe ten years ago. I’m not sure. His parents are dear friends of mine.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “There are other conservative Mennonite young people in Sanctuary. Is there something about him that troubles you?”

I smiled. “No, not at all. Just curious.” Not wanting to raise her suspicions, I decided to back off. It was clear I needed to find out more about Elijah before he came to Sanctuary. “Well, thank you for talking to me, Esther. I really appreciate your help.”

“I’m not sure what you have planned for tomorrow, but you might have a hard time talking to folks on Sunday. It’s the Lord’s Day in Sanctuary.”

“That’s fine. Zac and I have a couple of other places to visit. If we can get some interviews set up for Monday and Tuesday, that would be great.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any problems.” Esther took a bite of her cookie. “What time will you leave tomorrow?”

“After lunch. These other towns are close-by.”

“Oh, good. Then you will be able to attend church in the morning. If you want to understand Sanctuary, you must include our faith. It is the foundation of who we are.” She smiled. “Sanctuary Mennonite starts at nine, and Agape Fellowship begins their services at nine-thirty. I realize you can’t attend both churches at the same time. And although I’m sure you will be able to interview some people at Agape, it won’t be allowed at Sanctuary Mennonite.”

I nodded slowly. “Actually, I’d like to attend both, but why don’t I start with Agape?” Esther looked a little disappointed. I wanted to go to her church, especially because the Fishers attended, but I needed some film. I thought for a moment. “Esther, does your church have any other services?”

“Tomorrow night at six o’clock.”

I frowned and shook my head. “I’m afraid we won’t be back by then.”

“We do have two Wednesday meetings a month, but our next meeting isn’t until next week.”

“We have other places to visit, and even after we get back to St. Louis, everything we’ve filmed will spend time in editing. There’s still plenty of time. How’s this? I’ll try to make it to your church next Sunday. If I can’t do that, we’ll be back here for your Wednesday service.”

Esther’s face lit up with a huge smile. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

“Do we need permission to attend?”

“No,” she said with a light laugh. “We’re a church. We do encourage people to attend, Wynter.”

“Do I have to . . . I mean, should I . . .”

This time she chuckled heartily, her face wrinkling in amusement. “No, you don’t have to dress like we do. Just dress modestly. You’ll be fine.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Esther.”

She nodded. “I’m so glad I can help you.”

I stood up. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality.”

“You are very welcome, dear. It’s so nice to have company. This house has been too quiet.” She handed me the plate of cookies. “Why don’t you take these upstairs for Zac? And tell him there’s coffee on the stove and fresh lemonade in the refrigerator. You two help yourself to anything you want.”

I smiled. “It’s going to be hard to say good-bye. You’re spoiling us, Esther. You’re an amazing hostess.”

She shook her head. “You’ve truly given me much more than I have given you. I’m so thankful to have new friends.”

“We are too.”

She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes. “Dinner will be at six. Reuben said he would join us tonight.”

“Sounds wonderful. I have a little work to do before then.”

“You go right ahead. I plan to take a nap. When you’re my age, a nap becomes a requirement.”

I grabbed the envelope I’d put on the table and headed upstairs. Frances, a beautiful calico cat, ran past me, probably on the way to my room. I stopped to listen at Zac’s door and could hear him clicking away on his keyboard. I knocked softly and after a few seconds, he swung it open. I handed him the plate of cookies.

“From Esther. She said to tell you there is coffee on the stove and lemonade in the fridge.”

“Thanks. She made me a huge sandwich for lunch. I’m not sure I can eat anything else.”

“Wait until you taste these. If you don’t finish every last one, I’ll eat the plate.”

“I’m gonna weigh five hundred pounds by the time we leave this place.”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to put some meat on your bones.”

“Thanks.” He pointed at his camera bag. “Ready to get something on film?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s wait for Reuben to set up a few more interviews. I think I’d rather knock most of it off at once instead of bothering these people in bits and pieces. I get the feeling that will go over better. The more they see us, the more they won’t want to see us. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “I guess so. I feel like I’m not accomplishing much.”

“Well, tomorrow we’ll get some good stuff in a couple of other nearby towns. At least we’ll be moving forward. I’m going to work on our schedule and go over some historical information Martha sent me. Oh, and we eat again at six.”

“Great. I might need help rolling down the stairs, so wait for me, okay? We’ll go down together.”

I laughed and said good-bye as he closed his door. By the time I got to my room, I was actually feeling a bit sleepy. Had to be the slow, small-town atmosphere getting to me and the sound of rain on the roof.

I kicked off my shoes, got the little stool, and after moving Frances over a bit, climbed up on top of the quilt. I pulled my laptop next to me but decided to look over Martha’s information first. However, after I opened the envelope and looked at the pages inside, I almost fell out of the bed—which could have had dire consequences since I was so far from the ground. The pages didn’t contain the history of Sanctuary. They were clippings from newspapers. All of them about babies kidnapped from Missouri hospitals.