Janice Kay - Plain Refuge

The driver unloaded the last piece of luggage from under the bus and got back on board. With a deep sigh, the bus started down the street. None of the buggy horses so much as flapped an ear. It took something much stranger than a noisy bus to bother them.

Daniel ambled forward, the picture of congeniality. After all, as county sheriff, he was an elected official. He greeted folks he knew and nodded at strangers while assessing them, until he reached the Grabers and a cluster of Yoders, all enveloping the two newcomers.

Looking him in the eye, Samuel Graber stepped away from the group.

Protecting the woman and child by distracting me? Daniel wondered.

“Sheriff.” Samuel’s greeting was pleasant, but he didn’t smile. The Amish trusted Daniel as a person, but they were wary of everything he represented. Behind Samuel, his wife was hugging the woman from the bus, while the blond boy gripped her skirts. His summer straw hat fell to the sidewalk. One of the many relatives picked it up.

“Family?” Daniel asked easily.

“Ja.” Samuel cleared his throat as he made a mental switch to English from the Deitsch language the Amish used among themselves. “Rebecca is the daughter of one of my sisters. Here for a visit.”

His gaze resting on the slim back clothed in a dark blue dress and apron, he said, “You know I’m only here to help.”

“You saw she has been injured.”

“I did.”

“She was hit by a car and thrown over the hood of another. A miracle it is she was not hurt worse.”

Daniel nodded. “I hope her little boy didn’t see it happen. That would have been frightening.”

“Ja, but I don’t think he did. She will tell us more once we get her home.” Without another word, Samuel returned to the group, his broad frame hiding the newcomers.

The message was not subtle: this is none of your business. But Daniel thought Samuel was wrong. The sight of a police uniform made many of the Amish wary, and accidents happened every day. But an accident did not leave a woman afraid of who might be waiting for her when she stepped off a bus.

Chances were that she was escaping trouble of one kind or another. In his experience, trouble had a way of following people, and the Amish were defenseless.

He often stopped to say hello to folks in his small county. He’d give the Grabers a day or two and then drive out to their farm, just to say he hoped their niece was recovering and enjoying her visit.

He was opening the door to the café, where he’d been headed for lunch, when he glanced back to catch Rebecca watching him, her expression now unreadable. With her high forehead, fine bones and sharp chin, she’d be a pretty woman once the swelling subsided. Between the bonnet and the prayer kapp, he couldn’t tell what color hair she had, but she shared her son’s blue eyes.

He smiled. She looked startled and quickly climbed into one of the buggies. Her onkel Samuel closed the door, and she was lost from Daniel’s view. Thoughtful, he went into the café, taking a seat at the window.

As he watched the buggies drive away, he wondered how long the Grabers’ guest intended to stay.

* * *

THE DRONE OF the metal wheels on the paved road, the sway of the buggy and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves would quickly make her drowsy, Rebecca feared. At least she didn’t have to strain to understand Deitsch, often called Pennsylvania Dutch, which was actually a Germanic dialect. Aenti Emma and the others had spoken English from the moment she stepped off the bus. Or maybe they were doing so for Matthew’s sake. Rebecca suspected the language would come back to her quickly. She had been reasonably fluent once upon a time—as a child, she had spent her summers with her Amish grandparents. She had loved those visits until she became a snotty thirteen-year-old with the same preoccupations as her other San Francisco friends. Boys, the right clothes, boys, how unfair their parents were, boys. The plain life had suddenly held no appeal. Her mother’s disappointment in her wasn’t enough to combat peer pressure.

That, she thought now, was when her foolishness had begun.

“Your aenti Mary gave you clothes, I see,” Aenti Emma said approvingly. Her round face was as cheerful as always, but she had become considerably stouter since Rebecca had last seen her.

“Yes.” Rebecca plucked at the fabric of her apron. They had gone first to her aenti Mary and onkel Abe’s farm to confuse anyone trying to find them. “It feels strange, I have to admit.” She kissed the top of her son’s head. “Matthew doesn’t know what to make of the suspenders.”

Sarah, the younger cousin she scarcely remembered, chuckled. “They suit him fine! We are so pleased to meet Matthew at last.”

Matthew buried his face against Rebecca. His hat fell off once again. The two other women laughed. Onkel Samuel, in the driver’s seat, either couldn’t hear or was ignoring the womenfolk.

Sarah said, “He will be less shy once he sees the horses and cows and chickens, ain’t so?”

Matthew sneaked a peek Sarah’s way.

Rebecca would have smiled if it hadn’t hurt. “He was fascinated by Onkel Abe’s horse. I don’t think he’s ever been close enough to pet one before. He went to a birthday party this spring that included pony rides, but that’s it.”

Aenti Emma beamed at Matthew. “He will like our horses.”

Rebecca let out a breath that seemed to drain her, mostly in a good way. She wouldn’t be able to stay here forever, but for now she and Matthew were safe. She couldn’t imagine Tim or Josh would think to look for her among the Amish, or succeed if they tried. She’d told Tim that her mother had grown up Amish, had mentioned summers with her grandparents, but would he remember? Would he know Mamm’s maiden name? Or that those summers had been spent in Missouri? He’d rolled his eyes at the idea she had been happy even temporarily in what he considered a backward, restricted life, and she doubted he’d really listened when she talked about family. Because of his lack of interest, she hadn’t mentioned her Amish roots in a very long time. And where the Amish were concerned, most people thought Pennsylvania or Ohio. An investigator could find her mother’s maiden name on her marriage certificate, but no one from her family had attended the wedding or signed as a witness.

Graber wasn’t quite as common a surname as some among the Amish, but there were Grabers in many settlements, so tracing her wouldn’t be easy. In many ways, the Amish lived off the grid. They weren’t in any phone directory unless their business was listed. They didn’t need driver’s licenses, and they didn’t contribute to federal social security or draw from it. Living on a cash basis, none of the Amish Grabers would be found in a credit-agency search, either. They did have Social Security numbers, or at least many of them did, because they paid federal income taxes and state and local taxes. Still, would a private investigator have access to income-tax records?

She had done her best to complicate any pursuit by initially flying to Chicago, then backtracking by bus to Des Moines, where she and Matthew had switched to various local buses, paying cash. They finally wended their way to Kalona, Iowa, where more of Rebecca’s relatives lived. Having received a note from Aenti Emma, Aenti Mary and Onkel Abe Yoder had kept her arrival and departure as quiet as possible. Their bishop and some members of their church district knew that their niece and her child had fled something bad and needed help. If an outsider came asking questions, she had confidence they’d pretend ignorance. Staying reserved was their way even when they had nothing to hide.

The unquestioning generosity still shook her. Even though Mamm had jumped the fence—left her faith—to marry Dad, the family considered Rebecca and now her son their own. She’d never even met the Iowa relatives, and yet they’d welcomed her with open arms.