The Rescued (23 page)

The face he turned to her was so grave that it terrified her. “The boys are fine. It's Joseph. Judith, is Joseph here?”

“Here?” She stared at him blankly. “Of course he's not. Why would he come here?”

“I thought he would come to you.” He stared at the house, as if expecting Joseph to appear.

“Isaac, you're not making sense. What has happened?”

He turned his face away from her. He wasn't going to answer. He was going to shut her out, as he did so often.

The muscles in Isaac's neck stood out like cords. His jaw clenched, but then finally he spoke. “After you left, we kept arguing. We both said things to each other, hateful things. My little brother has run away, and it's my fault.”

Her heart seemed to jump against her ribs, but she had to stay calm. If steady, responsible Isaac was falling apart, it was her job to strengthen and support him.

She struggled to speak gently. “What makes you think Joseph ran away? Surely he wouldn't be so foolish . . .”

That thought died. For all his size, in some ways Joseph was still just a boy.

“He said he would leave. That I wouldn't have to think about him any longer.” Isaac rubbed his palms on his face. “I thought he was going to Onkel Simon's. I thought he'd be all right. But he didn't go to Simon, and he didn't come to you. He's run away.”

“He'll come back—” she began, but Isaac shook his head.

“You didn't see his face. He's gone. My parents entrusted him to my care, and I've let them down.” His voice shook with emotion. “I can't even think where he might be. Would he go to Fred Yoder? I could go to the mill, ask Fred to help.”

It was a measure of how desperate Isaac was that he would consider asking Fred for help, Judith knew. “It's possible, I
guess, but I don't think so. He'd be bound to realize that Fred wouldn't hide him from you.”

“Then where?”

It hit her, quite suddenly. That day in the garden, talking to Joseph, hearing about his secret hiding place up in the woods. She'd nearly forgotten it with everything that had happened since then.

She started to speak and then closed her lips. If she told Isaac, if he went there and found Joseph, Joseph would know she'd revealed his secret. Would Isaac handle it wrong and make matters worse? If she went herself—

The truth hit Judith like a blow. She was doing it again. She was trying to intervene, to come between them and settle their struggles for them. Hadn't she just told herself how wrong that was?

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the thudding of her heart. The choice was clear, wasn't it? She had to trust that this would turn out the way God intended if only she did what was right.

“I know where he might be.” Her voice sounded strange to her. “He told me once he has a place where he goes when he needs to be alone and quiet. It's up in the woods beyond the pastures.”

Isaac grabbed her hands as if he'd pull the words out of her. “Where? Where exactly is it?”

“He said he built a little lean-to out where the log drag crosses the old railroad bed. Do you know it?”

Isaac didn't bother to answer. He climbed to the wagon, picking up the lines. He'd forgotten about her entirely, it seemed, and the pain pierced her heart.

He seemed to freeze, staring down at the leather straps. Then he turned and held out his hand to her. “Come with me.”

Blinking back tears, she reached for him. Stopped. “The work—the guests—”

“Go.” Barbie's voice had both of them turning to stare. She had come out of the phone shanty. How long had she been standing there, and they hadn't even noticed? “Go,” she called again. “I can take care of everything here. Just go.”

Isaac's fingers closed on Judith's in a firm, strong grip, and he nearly lifted her up to the seat beside him. He released the brake and slapped the lines. “We'll go. Please God, we'll find him.”

Judith gripped the seat as Isaac steered the horse in a rough circle over the grass to head back down the lane.
Please,
God.
She repeated the words in her mind.
Please, God.

Lancaster County, October 1953

M
attie
wasn't sure how long she had been sitting on the hard cot, waiting. At some point, a woman came in with a tray containing tomato soup, soda crackers, and a glass of juice. Mattie feared the crackers would choke her, but she drank the juice thirstily and settled down to wait some more.

She focused her mind on prayers at first, reciting in her mind all those prayers she remembered from childhood on. Then she began telling herself silently the story of Paul and Silas. God had sent an angel to rescue them, but nonbelievers thought it was an earthquake. Would God send someone to rescue her?

The door rattled again, and this time it was the chief. He unlocked the door of the cell. “It's about time to head for the magistrate's office. I thought you might want to stop in the ladies' room and um, freshen up before we go.”

At her nod, he led her into another long hallway, stopping at a restroom door. “I'll wait here. Take your time.”

It seemed he wasn't afraid she would try to climb out the
window. Mattie almost managed a smile at the thought. Luckily the room was empty. She didn't want to face any more curious gazes at the moment.

Chief Ferguson was waiting when she emerged. “Down here. Please don't stop to talk to anyone on the way.”

She couldn't imagine whom he thought she would talk to, but when they came into the lobby, she saw that Daad Jonah and Adam were there, as well as several of the other Amish fathers. Meeting Adam's gaze, she struggled to smile. She couldn't quite manage it, but she nodded as she passed, watching his familiar figure as long as she could.

Once again, there were people—reporters, apparently—waiting outside. Even more of them than when she'd gone in. A second police officer joined them and led Mattie to a waiting car. The police seemed able to ignore the shouted questions, and she tried to do the same.

But one lodged in her mind and stuck there.
Why are you
doing this, Mrs. Lapp?

For an instant she longed to answer—wanted to explain their beliefs and try to make people understand. But what good would it do? Most folks seemed to have already made up their minds.

The ride was a short one to a building a few blocks away. She found she was peering out the window at the street behind them, searching for Daad Jonah and Adam. If they didn't reach the hearing—well, if they didn't, she would have to go on alone. She could do it. But she would rather know that they were there, supporting her. Loving her.

Once again the car was parked, this time at the rear of a building, making her think the police wanted to avoid any
possible reporters in the front. Mattie was led by what seemed a very circuitous route through the building.

Finally they stopped in front of a door with a pane of frosted glass. A card posted next to the door identified it:
Magistrate's Court Number One. Theodore Ransom presiding.
Mattie puzzled over it for a moment before deciding that Theodore Ransom must be the magistrate who was in charge of the hearing.

The police officer tried the door, found it unlocked, and led the way inside, with Mattie and Chief Ferguson following.

Mattie wasn't sure what image had been in her mind of the hearing room—something vast and intimidating, she supposed. This room wasn't all that large; it was more like the room where they'd met with the school board in the new school building than anything else. At one end stood a high desk, rather battered-looking but flanked by flags on either side.

“Over there.” Chief Ferguson touched Mattie's elbow, directing her to a small table placed at one side of the room. There was a matching table on the opposite side. “We'll sit here.” He gestured to several chairs behind the table. “The district attorney will sit at the other table.”

Two rows of chairs faced the front, but as Mattie settled herself in the padded wooden chair, a man came in carrying a stack of metal folding chairs, which he began setting up behind the existing rows.

“Looks as though they expect a full house,” the chief muttered. He didn't look very happy about it. “They'll start letting other people in soon.”

What other people?
she wanted to ask, but she decided silence was a better option. A row of high windows let shafts of afternoon sunlight into the room, and they fell in neat
squares on the opposite wall. The windows were rather dirty, making her wonder whose job it was to climb up there and clean them.

The door opened, admitting several men with notebooks. One had a camera, which was promptly taken by a police officer who followed him in. “No pictures,” he said firmly. “You can pick this up when you leave.”

At least she wouldn't have to worry about trying to shield her face from the camera. It was nearly as bad, though, to have the reporters staring at her avidly, writing things down in their little notebooks.

Fortunately the next time the door opened, it was to admit a small group of Amish men, led by her father-in-law and Adam. They came across the room to fill in the rows behind her, with Daad Jonah and Adam directly behind.

Mattie glanced at Chief Ferguson, who was staring gloomily at the reporters. “Please . . . may I speak to my family now?”

He looked startled, as if she'd been silent for so long he'd thought she'd forgotten how to talk. “Yeah, sure. Just don't leave your seat.”

“I won't.” She turned until she could see those behind her, trying not to let tears form in her eyes at their dear faces.

“Are you all right?” Adam kept his voice low. “No one has bothered you?”

“I'm fine.” She shot a glance toward the chief, but he wouldn't understand as long as they spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch. “The chief has been very nice and understanding. He wouldn't let them take my picture.”

“People say he is a fair man.” Daad Jonah gave him a doubtful glance. “He seems not to like being here.”

Maybe he didn't. Certainly he had been kinder to her than she'd expected, and impatient with the other officers. But he'd said that once she was sentenced, he wouldn't have any choice. Mattie's throat tightened, and she swallowed hard.

“Where is Bishop Thomas? I thought he was with you.”

“He and Pastor Colby went off a couple of hours ago,” Adam said, looking concerned. “He didn't say why, but we thought surely it had to do with the hearing. He did expect to be back by now, I know.”

The room was filling up. Soon there would be no chairs left if the bishop did come. Mattie tried not to feel bereft that he wasn't there. A young man approached the table opposite them, opened a briefcase, and sat down. Almost simultaneously, Pastor Colby arrived and took the chair next to her at the table.

“You don't mind, do you, Chief? I'll act as Mrs. Lapp's advisor until her bishop arrives.”

Chief Ferguson nodded. “Fine by me. But if the magistrate objects, you'll have to move.”

Adam was leaning forward, his hand on the back of Mattie's chair. She could feel the brush of his fingers and the warmth of his hand, and they seemed to comfort her. “Where is the bishop? I thought he was with you.”

“He was. Don't worry, he'll be here. I left early so I could join you in case you need someone to explain what's going on.”

Mattie wanted to ask where they'd been, but that would probably sound officious. Obviously two busy men like the bishop and Pastor Colby had other matters to attend to besides her.

“That's interesting,” the minister murmured. “The district attorney apparently isn't coming himself this time.” He nodded toward the young man across from them, who was riffling
through papers. “He looks like the most junior attorney in the office to me.”

The magistrate arrived, waving away a reporter who tried to ask a question and hurrying to the tall desk, where he slid onto a chair and scrutinized the papers that lay in front of him.

“I thought he would wear a robe,” Mattie murmured, eyeing the man's dark suit and bright red tie.

“This is much less formal than being in court.” Pastor Colby sounded confident, as if he'd been in this situation often, instead of what she hoped would be once in a lifetime for her. “You don't have to be afraid. Just answer any questions he asks you.”

She nodded, wondering what he would ask. Would he care why the Amish believed as they did? Probably not, if he was the one who'd sent the others to jail.

The magistrate rapped on the desk with his knuckles. The conversation died, and he glanced around as if he were irritated by the whole business. His glance lit on the young man at the opposite table.

“Well, now, it looks as if we have a substitute today. Where's our esteemed district attorney? I thought he was pursuing this cause himself. Caught a cold?”

For some reason, several people tittered at that question, and Mattie saw one reporter elbow another one.

The young man rose, his fair skin flushing as he spoke. “I don't think . . . I mean, Mr. Whittaker directed me to take today's case.”

The magistrate glanced at Mattie and seemed amused. “I think I can see why. All right, let's get on with it.” He shuffled through the papers again. “Mrs. Mattie Lapp?”

Pastor Colby nudged her. “You should stand while he asks questions.”

She rose. “I am Mattie Lapp.” Her voice quavered a little, and the reporters wrote furiously.

The man seemed to focus on her, and she thought his expression softened slightly. “Have the charges against you been explained to you, Mrs. Lapp?”

“Ja . . . yes, they have.”

He frowned down at the paperwork again. “Did you receive a notice this summer, telling you when school started and what school your daughter, Rachel Lapp, was to attend?”

“Yes.” She pressed her fingertips on the edge of the table in front of her, glad it was there.

“Did you keep your daughter, Rachel Lapp, at home instead of sending her to school?”

“Yes, I did.”

He stopped looking at the papers and looked at her instead. “I am fining you twenty-five dollars for willful violation of the school code. If you agree to send your daughter to school as assigned from this time forward, the matter is ended. Do you so agree?”

Her heart beat so loudly that surely everyone in the room could hear it. All she had to do was agree, and then she could go home and be with her children.

She took a deep breath. “No, I do not agree.”

It seemed to Mattie that everyone exhaled at the same time. The young lawyer rose. “The state requests jail time in this case of willful defiance of the law.”

The magistrate stared at him with what was surely a look of distaste. But he would have no choice, would he?

“Very well. I sentence you, Mattie Lapp, to serve—”

The door into the hearing room swung open, and several people entered quickly, one after the other, as if racing to be
first. Confused, Mattie stared at them. Those were people from the school board, including Mr. Graham, the president, along with the teachers from the small school her children attended. And then the bishop came in.

Bishop Thomas moved toward the group of Amish and sat down in the back row, while the other people went to the table where the attorney watched them, startled. Another person entered, sliding into a chair near the door. It was Mrs. Graham. For an instant their eyes met, and the woman nodded.

“What is happening?” Daad Jonah whispered. “What are they doing?”

“Settling things, I hope,” Pastor Colby said.

Muttered conversations ensued at the attorney's table. Were they disagreeing? Mattie couldn't be sure.

Then abruptly the conversation seemed to be over. Everyone either found a chair or stood against the back wall.

“Well?” The magistrate's face had reddened. “If you're all quite ready to proceed . . .”

The attorney stood, looking flustered and uncertain. “The district attorney's office has been informed that the school board is withdrawing its request. Therefore the state is dropping all charges.”

Mattie wasn't sure she'd heard what she thought she had. What did it mean?

The magistrate rapped on his desk, muttering something she couldn't hear. When silence had been restored, he spoke. “Now that you've wasted the time of the court system and the taxpayers' money, maybe someone would like to explain.”

Walter Graham rose to his feet, his face flushing at the reprimand. “The board apologizes for the inconvenience.
We are . . . pleased to announce that we have reached a temporary agreement with the Amish community. We will allow ninth-grade students to complete their schoolwork at home with their families under the supervision of the school district.”

A babble of conversation broke out, silenced once again by the irritable rapping on the table. “Come to order, please,” the magistrate barked. “Mrs. Lapp, the charges against you have been dropped. The fine is rescinded. You're free to go, and you have my apologies for the difficulty you have undergone.”

Mattie felt dazed. Excited voices sounded around her, but she couldn't seem to make out what they were saying. Then Adam's hands closed on her shoulders, steadying her.

“It's all right,” he murmured, his voice close to her ear. “It's over. You can go home. Mattie, do you understand?”

She nodded, looking up at him. “I know I can go home, but I don't understand how this happened. Why did they change their minds?”

“Does it matter? The important thing is that it's over. You don't have to be afraid.”

Mattie looked around. Pastor Colby was openly jubilant; Bishop Thomas appeared quiet but satisfied. The school board president looked as if he wished he were somewhere else. Mrs. Graham came up and spoke to him, and he nodded.

Then the Englisch woman glanced across the room. Her gaze met Mattie's again, and a silent message seemed to pass between them.