Sanctuary (6 page)

  
Chapter Seven
  

ELIZABETH KING gathered her little ones around her. “We best be thinking ‘bout a present for Aunt Lela,” she told them after evening prayers. “Her birthday is next week, and you know how much she loves gettin’ homemade gifts from each one of you.”

Four towheaded youngsters nodded their heads. Mary Jane, age seven, grinned up at her. “I’ll be makin’ her a perty doily for her hope chest.”

Not to dampen her daughter’s spirits, Elizabeth wondered how she might focus on the doily and not Mary Jane’s comment. “Well, if I were you, I’d make it white.”

Her daughter seemed pleased with the suggestion. “Gut idea, Mama. White goes with anything.”

The other children talked about making drawings and maybe some birthday cookies. Then, after a bit, they kissed and hugged their parents and headed off to bed.

All but Mary Jane. Being the oldest, sometimes she spent a few extra minutes with Mama before bedtime. “I’m sorry if I said somethin’ out of turn,” she whispered.

“Meaning what?” Elizabeth asked as they sat near the wood stove in the kitchen.

“Well, you know …’bout the hope chest.” Mary Jane, eyes blue as the sea, stopped and took a childish deep breath.

“‘Sposin’ Aunt Lela won’t be marryin’ anytime soon.”

Elizabeth hugged her girl. “We don’t know that for sure, now do we?”

Shaking her head slowly, Mary Jane’s eyes were wide as ever. “Do ya think God has a husband out there somewheres for her?”

Elizabeth didn’t rightly know. ‘Twasn’t something she and Lela had talked about for the longest time. Far as she knew, her older sister was fairly content in her singleness. She didn’t especially seek out social outings or places that widowers would frequent. And honestly, widowers were about the only available men Lela could be thinking of now, considering her age.

“A husband for Aunt Lela?” Elizabeth repeated.

“
Jah
, Mama, that’s what I’m askin’.” Eager for a response, Mary Jane had the beginnings of a frown.

“I guess that’s a task for the Good Lord,” was all she said. But knowing her eldest as she did, the girl would be asking again. And again.

Mary Jane was becoming much more aware of things here lately. “You’ve got yourself a youngster who’s mighty perceivin’ of folk,” Elizabeth’s mother had said a few days ago.

That, she knew, was mighty true. Being the oldest of four—so far—Mary Jane wasn’t such a handful, really. She was just interested in people. Same as Elizabeth herself.

“Time for bed,” she said, shooing her darling toward the stairs. Morning came awful quick around here, especially with the second cutting of alfalfa upon them. Thaddeus would want them all up milking cows, helping in general, come five or so tomorrow.

Before she turned out the gas lamp in the kitchen, she slipped to the dark living room and peered down the road toward Lela’s little brick house. She wasn’t surprised to see the lights still on downstairs, as her sister often retired hours later than Elizabeth and her family. No need for her to get up with the chickens, after all. Wasn’t like she was a farmer’s wife.

But the thing that did surprise her was seeing the lights ablazing in the second-floor bedroom, Lela’s spare room.
Whatever is she doing in there?
Elizabeth wondered. Surely Lela had cleaned up after their brother and family left this morning. She kept a very tidy house, her sister did, so it wondered Elizabeth what still needed to be done. Especially at this hour.

“Comin’ up to bed?” Thaddeus called to her softly.

“Be right there, dear.” She pressed closer to the window and stood gazing down the narrow road, pale in the light of a quarter moon. “Dear Lord, please watch over my sister, Lela. And, if it be thy will, bless her with a nice husband,” she whispered into the windowpane.

Only a shard of the moon was visible when Melissa spotted the billboard just after the exit ramp to Keamy, in New Jersey. A wide sign, well lit, touted Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, as the heart of Amish Country—
where time stands still
.

“Exactly what I need,” she whispered to herself. “A place locked in time.”

She’d heard bits and pieces about the area, mostly about the attractions such as Dutch Wonderland and the Amish Village. Ali and her husband had spent an entire weekend a few years ago shopping the outlet malls, a big draw for tourists. They’d returned home full of talk about horse-drawn buggies and folks walking around in Plain clothing that “would make your head spin,” Ali had said.

“Like how?” Ryan had said, laughing, not sure if she were joking or not.

“The men grow beards—no mustaches—and they wear dark trousers with tan suspenders and white shirts … and straw hats,” Ali explained.

“How do the women dress?” Melissa asked.

“Long, dark, caped dresses and aprons, with little white netting caps called prayer coverings.”

Melissa hadn’t known what to make of it then, but she’d listened intently. “I’ve heard of prayer caps,” she’d said softly. “Hutterite women wear them, too.”

Ali didn’t seem to know or care much about other Plain sects, but she was eager to chat about her encounter with the horse-and-buggy people. “You should see how cute the children are!” her friend had said, describing the way the girls wore their hair parted down the middle, “without bangs at all,” and braids wrapped around their little heads.

Melissa hadn’t been so interested in hearing about “the peculiar-looking people” Ali had talked about, and certainly not all the gawking her friends must’ve done while in Lancaster. But such a place
did
appeal to her. She longed for quietude, at least for the night. First, she must acquire a motel, then find a telephone.

For the first time since she’d left Connecticut, she dared to relax a little. A small sense of tranquility lulled her. But only for a time.

Southeast of Trenton, near Holland on Route 276, she glanced in her rearview mirror. There it was again, the undeniable outline of a Buick sedan, coming up close.

Her heart sank.
How did he find me?
Melissa was aghast, overcome with both dread and disappointment. Renewed panic rushed through her veins, charging her body with needed adrenaline.

She’d memorized the highway options earlier, before the sun sank low in the sky, before it was too difficult to reach for the map and study it as she drove. There were two distinct routes available. She could remain on this interstate highway and link up with Route 202 eventually, or follow this super-highway to another multilane artery, onto Route 30, passing through Exton and Gap, wending her way to her final destination.

In way over her head, she felt helpless. She was caught in the grasp of the greatest horror she’d ever known. But she would not give up without a fight.

Daddy’s girl to the bitter end….

She refused to let herself unravel. “Please, God, help me,” she murmured, wondering now, as she drove pell-mell, if God cared at all. “If you’re really out there somewhere, help me.”

The sound of the Buick bumping her car made her scream. Melissa stomped on the accelerator, flooring it, exceeding the speed limit. This was life or death. Her car roared out ahead, momentarily leaving him in the dust. But she knew the Buick had more power than her car.

Sure enough, seconds later, he was within yards again. Only now they were speeding nearly out of control.

This is crazy
, she thought.
We’re both going to lose it
. She spied the cell phone. She’d been warned not to use it, but she had no choice. She had to get help.

Wham!
The Buick bumped her again, just as she reached for the phone. The jolt stunned her, lurching her dangerously to the right. She grabbed the wheel with both hands, turned hard to the left, narrowly missing the ditch, but she’d over-corrected and the car began to spin.

Melissa slammed on the brakes, creating a squealing sound, knowing in seconds the Buick would ram her. But she had no choice. It was either stop or flip over.

Her car careened violently, completing nearly a full circle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Buick swerve into the ditch to avoid a collision. The man fought to control his vehicle, flying past her. He gunned the engine, and the Buick leaped from the ditch in front of her.

The sound of an explosion jolted her to full alert. The gray sedan jerked and leaned stiffly, pitching
back
into the shallow ditch. At a dead stop now, dazed and confused, she stared at the listless car.
What … what now?
And then she knew. He’d blown a tire!

Struggling through her tears, she slammed her foot on the accelerator and passed the Buick just as the man opened his door. Instead of an angry face, he leered at her, grinning widely, as if taunting her.

It didn’t matter. She was safe … for now.

Miles later, still shaking, Melissa made the turnoff to Highway 202. Even if the man changed his tire speedily, he would never find her on this road, never guess where she was headed. To Amish Country—the land that time forgot.

Heading into Lancaster on Route 30, she spotted some restaurants—Miller’s Smorgasbord and several others—still open, serving hungry tourists. Motels were plentiful on either side of the highway. Limp and exhausted, Melissa was briefly tempted by a vacancy sign in front of the Steamboat Inn.
Not remote enough
, she thought.

The pressure was beginning to lift. The clench of her jaw had begun to lessen; her shoulders ached but were not nearly as tense as before. She was going to survive. At least, for today.

At the junction of Routes 30 and 222, she followed the road leading north, toward Eden.
Sounds like a pleasant place
, she thought, wondering where all the Plain folk lived. Were they scattered around the county … where?

Stopping at a fast-food place, she took a chance and went inside to stretch her tingling legs and to purchase a sandwich and a cup of coffee, inquiring of the clerk about lodging. “Do you know of any inns or B&Bs off the beaten track?”

“Plenty of places to stay around here,” the young woman said, smiling. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Something quiet, away from the noise.”

The clerk nodded. “Well, since you’re already headed this way, why don’t you drive along Hunsecker Road, just up the way apiece. You’ll see the sign where to turn. I think you’ll find a good many places to stay. Even some private homes with rooms for rent.”

“By the week or the day?”

“Whatever you’d like, I suppose. It’s coming up on the end of the summer, so you shouldn’t have a bit of trouble finding something.”

She thanked the woman and hurried back to the car, food in hand.

Wooden boards rumbled as she slowed the car and drove over the Conestoga River via a covered bridge marked “Hunsecker Mill Bridge” on her map. Occasional small openings in the sides of the bridge brought in the slightest bit of light.

Once out in the open, she could see stars winking down at her through the willows and other large trees along the road. She thought again of Ryan’s plans for a romantic getaway in Vermont. Columbus Day weekend was the ideal time to travel deep into New England autumn.

Melissa recalled the smell of woodsmoke permeating the crisp, dry air, the crackle of leaves underfoot. They liked to strike out into unpopulated and wooded areas, enjoying a day-long hike into the nearby Green Mountains. One of their favorite things was simply walking in the woods, amidst cinnamon ferns and the colorful undergrowth. There they held hands and talked freely. Always they discovered secluded gardens of milkweed and black-eyed Susans, gurgling streams, low stacked-stone walls, and spicebush swallowtail butterflies. Nature was tangible in such settings, and now, more than ever, she would miss their Vermont experience terribly. But her leaving had altered more than their plans for a romantic weekend. Now
everything
was different.