Debby Giusti - Amish Refuge

Her stomach roiled.

She accelerated. The car fishtailed. Blood seeped from the gash to her forehead. She wiped her hand across her brow and blinked back the swell of panic that clamped down on her chest. Her breath caught as she glanced at her speedometer, knowing she was driving much too fast.

Her cell phone, with its dead battery, sat on the console. If she had a car charger, she would call for help. Not the authorities. She couldn’t trust law enforcement, but her older sister, Hannah, would know what to do.

Headlights flashed in her rearview mirror. Her heart stopped. He was following her.

She increased her speed, all too aware of her threadbare tires and the threat of ice on the mountain road. The engine whined as she rounded a turn. Gripping the wheel, white-knuckled, she worked to hold the road.

Pop! The right rear tire deflated.

The blowout caused the car to shimmy across the pavement and career down a steep embankment. In the path of her headlights, she saw the river, edged with ice.

She screamed, anticipating the frigid water. Unable to swim, she’d drown. At the last second the car came to an abrupt halt, mired in mud. Her head hit the steering wheel. She moaned and blinked back the darkness that swirled around her.

A warning welled up from deep within her.

Run!

Dazed, she grabbed her phone, crawled from the car and staggered into the woods. Pushing through brambles, she ignored the sharp thorns that scraped her arms and tugged at her jacket. A clearing lay ahead.

In the distance she saw a farmhouse. A warm glow beckoned from the downstairs window. She turned to see the police cruiser racing down the hill, seemingly oblivious to where her car had gone off the road.

Could Serpent see her, even in the dark?

The memory of what had happened four nights ago washed over her—Miriam, her sister, Sarah, and their mother lost in the North Georgia mountains. Wrongly, they’d thought the cops would provide help.

Her heart broke. Tears filled her eyes and her body ached, but she willed her legs forward. The farmhouse was her only hope.

She crossed the clearing and reached the house. Clutching the wood banister, she pulled herself up the stairs to the porch. Relief overcame her, along with exhaustion. Too spent to lift her hand to knock, she gasped when the door opened.

Warmth from inside washed over her. A tall, muscular man stood backlit in the threshold. “Help me,” she pleaded, her head whirling. She grabbed his hand. “He...he wants to kill me.”

* * *

Abram Zook reached for the frightened woman who fell into his arms. Her plaintive cry for help touched a broken place deep within him. Instinctively he pulled her close and cradled her to him.

His sister, Emma, limped down the stairs, wrapping a shawl around her bedclothes.

“Abram, why are you standing in the doorway at this time of night?”

Coming toward him, she gasped, seeing the woman in his arms. “Gott help us.”

“Gott help this woman,” Abram countered.

He carried her to the rocker near the wood-burning stove and gently placed her on the chair.

Emma retrieved the lantern from the table but stopped short when the screech of tires pulled her gaze to the still open doorway. “Abram, look.”

He glanced to where his sister pointed, seeing headlights approaching much too fast along the icy road.

“Stay with the woman.”

Emma reached for his arm. “You cannot save the Englisch from their foolish ways. Do not get involved.”

He shrugged off her warning. “The bridge is out. I must alert the driver.”

Abram stepped onto the porch. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark night.

“Take the lantern,” Emma insisted from the doorway.

Ignoring the request, he ran toward the road, flailing his arms to flag down the oncoming vehicle.

The car screeched to a stop. The driver lowered the window. Abram raised his hand to his eyes, unable to see the driver’s face in the glare of the headlights.

“Did a car pass by here?” the man demanded, his voice as brittle as the ice on the roadway.

“The bridge is out. You must take the other fork in the road.” Abram pointed to where the narrow country path split.

The man glanced back. “Did she go that way?”

Abram would not betray the woman he had cradled against him. “Your car is the first I have seen tonight.”

Cursing, the man turned his vehicle around and screeched away from Abram. The back wheels spun on the slick pavement. He took the fork and accelerated.

Abram hurried back to the house.

Emma locked the door behind him. “Who was that man?” she asked.

“I do not know.”

“He was looking for the woman.” She stated what they both knew was true.

“Perhaps, but he will not find her tonight.”

“I tell you, Abram, she will bring trouble to this house.”

“She is in need, Emma. We will take her upstairs.”

He lifted the woman into his arms and felt her startle. “I have you. You are safe.”

She was thin, too thin.

His sister held the lantern aloft and climbed the stairs ahead of him. On the second floor she pushed open the door to the extra bedroom.

As Abram stepped past her, light from the lantern spilled over the woman’s pale face. His sister inhaled sharply.

He glanced down, taking in the blood that spattered her clothing, the gash to her forehead and the scrapes to her hands and wrists.

His heart lurched.

What had happened to this woman on the run?

* * *

“You are awake?”

Miriam blinked her eyes open to daylight filtering through the window then turned her gaze to the man standing in the doorway of the small bedroom where she lay. He had a ruddy, wind-burned complexion with a dark beard and shaggy black hair that fell below his ears. His white shirt hugged his broad chest and puckered against the suspenders attached to his trousers.

Her mind slowly put the pieces together as she glanced from his clothing to the stark bedroom furnishings and back again to her larger-than-life rescuer. Was she dreaming or had she somehow, in the dead of night, found refuge in an Amish house?

Memories flashed through her mind. Struggling to put her thoughts in order, she tugged the quilt closer to her chin.

His brow knit. “You are afraid?”

Of him? Should she be?

She glanced behind the man to where a woman stood. Petite, with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, she wore a pale blue dress and white apron. Her hair was pulled into a bun under a starched cap. Miriam strained to remember, recalling only snippets of how the woman had tended her cut and dressed her in a flannel nightgown. At least that much she could recall.

The Amish man turned to the woman next to him. “Emma, she needs to eat.”

Miriam shook her head. Food wasn’t important. Being free of Serpent was all that mattered. Then, just that fast, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had more than a few crackers in four days.

Gathering her courage, she swallowed hard and gave voice to the question that pinged through her head. “Who...who are you?”

“My name is Abram. We will talk soon.”

He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Wait,” she called.

The door opened again. He stared at her, his face drawn, eyes pensive.

Was he friend or foe? She couldn’t tell.

“My cell,” she explained. “I need to make a phone call.”

“I do not have your cell,” he stated.

“But it was in my hand, then I dropped it into my pocket.” She raised her voice for emphasis. “You have my clothes.”

He glanced at the woman. He’d called her Emma. Was she his wife?

“You have found a phone?” he asked.

“No, Brother.” The woman shook her head. “A phone was not among her clothing.”