The Yellow Packard (14 page)

“I’ve got an Illinois and Indiana map,” he assured her. “I know the area pretty well, too.”

Moving toward her husband, she tugged his arms open and leaned into his chest. As she did, his arms tightly encircled her. “We’ll get our baby back tomorrow,” she sighed.

Mutely, he patted her back. Maybe the nightmare was about over. All they had to do now was make it through one more long night.

Chapter 24

T
hey arrived at the tiny hamlet of Prairie Center just before eight. Though hope of a reunion with their little girl buoyed their spirits, neither had spoken during the three-hour trip. Once again, time seemed to barely move as the seconds dragged by. Parking their car off a side road, the couple silently watched the Packard’s clock slowly edge closer to the appointed hour. Finally, at just after nine thirty, George spoke. His words meant nothing to him or his wife, but at least they broke the horrid silence.

“It’s not much of a town.”

“I think I can leave you at that garage,” Carole said, pointing to a tiny, frame structure to their right about a half block up the street.

“It is either that or the church,” he solemnly replied. “At least the temperature’s in the forties. It could be a lot worse. Still I wish I could go with you. Maybe if I hid in the backseat …”

“We have to do it their way,” she forcefully interjected. “Whoever has her is probably watching us right now. We have no choice. It’s not that I don’t want you there, but I can do this by myself, George. I have to.”

He patted her gloved hand with his own. “I know you can. But staying here and waiting is going to be so hard.”

“Keep your eye on the end result,” she urged him. “And please keep praying.”

Praying was the last thing on his mind. For the past two days, as he had looked back over the events since Rose’s birth, he’d come to the conclusion that prayer had little do with their good fortune or bad. It was just fate. Fate had brought them the chance to buy the Packard. Fate had put the gravel truck there, and fate had given them the chance to make a bit of money off it. Fate had even dropped the thousand in needed cash for the down payment on the flower shop. Now fate would decide this as well.

Was blaming fate a cop-out? Perhaps, but it made accepting the final results so much easier. There would be no one to blame; it would be fate’s fault. It was much harder to get mad at fate than at God. If God was behind this, George couldn’t forgive Him at all.

He glanced to the passenger seat at his wife. She was so much different than he was. He could see that she was praying. She was probably asking God to grant her the strength to do what was asked of her. Yes, her faith had been shaken in the past two days, but unlike his, it hadn’t completely fallen apart. And when she held Rose in her arms again, that faith would be justified. But he simply couldn’t get there. Not yet.

She opened her eyes and looked into his. “What are you thinking about?”

“The
ifs
,” he grimly replied. “What if we hadn’t gotten the Packard? What if I hadn’t signed us up to the do the ads? What if I’d come and gotten Rose that day rather than taking a nap? They just go on and on.”

“And they never stop,” she replied. “Life is full of
ifs.
We call them decisions. We make choices and they affect us forever. But in this case we don’t know if any of those decisions created this situation. The only thing we can really be sure of is that having this car and doing the ads opened the door to get the money to pay the ransom.”

He nodded. She was right again. So maybe it wasn’t just faith or fate. Maybe there was more to it. And maybe someday, long after this nightmare was over and he could put the
ifs
in order in such a way to fully understand why everything happened as it had, he’d come to understand her perspective, too.

“I think it’s time,” she noted, tapping the clock on the dash in front of her. “Do you want me to drop you off at the garage or just leave you here?”

“Here is fine.” He sighed. “I’ll just walk around town for a while. Couldn’t sit still if I wanted to, and I certainly don’t want to talk to anyone.”

As he opened the driver’s door, Carole moved her purse and slid behind the wheel. Holding the door open, he watched as she started the car. With tears in his eyes, he whispered, “You be careful.”

She glanced his way, forced a smile, and softly vowed, “I’ll bring her back with me.”

There was no reason to say any more. George pushed the door shut, took a step back, and watched the sedan move slowly down Highway 63. His eyes stayed glued to the Packard until it finally drifted around a curve and was out of sight. Turning the collar of his overcoat up to protect him from the breeze, he glanced to his right at a gravel road that led past an old farmhouse. That seemed as good a direction as any to kill what would likely be the longest hour of his life.

Chapter 25

T
wo and a half miles could be a very long trip, especially when your daughter’s life hung in the balance. In the bright morning sunlight, traveling a road few ever used, Carole Hall was a woman intent on carefully measuring each tenth of a mile on the odometer. She was also just as careful about the time. And even though her heart demanded she get to the drop point as quickly as possible, her mind, focusing on the instructions she’d been given, forced her to slow the car to fifteen miles-per-hour in order to not arrive at the roadside park before the assigned moment.

For Carole the next few moments were an eternity. It was as if time had stopped. Thus every sound of a car rolling down the gravel road was magnified. Each movement of a rabbit or bird along the ditch line startled her. Even the sun bouncing off the yellow hood was numbing. She felt eyes on her every movement, but she saw no one. And it felt as though her racing heart was going to tear through her chest and fall in her lap. Foot by foot, as she grew closer to the place where her daughter would soon be dropped, her silent passenger—apprehension—seemed to squeeze her so tightly she could no longer breathe.

The dash clock said precisely eleven when she spotted the three tall trees. But just to make sure of the time she also checked her watch and turned on the radio. She searched the dial until she found a station with the news. Only then did she feel confident it was ten.

She spotted the lone picnic table under the large trio of elms. Just as she expected, there was no one there. She slowly guided the Packard to a parking spot between the table and the trash can and eased to a stop. Once in place, she set the brake and turned off the key. The only sound was the breeze. Reaching into the passenger floorboard, she picked up the duffel bag, unzipped it to take a final look at the cash, then rezipped it and tossed it into the backseat. Pushing the door handle down, she stepped out into the morning air.

Before facing south, Carole took a few moments to button her overcoat and slip on her gloves. After saying a quick prayer, she set her jaw and began walking down the road. Step-by-step she moved farther from the car, the money, and the place where she would be reunited with her daughter in just under an hour. That thought kept her stepping quickly down the road, and the fear of doing something to mess up that reunion kept her eyes focused on what was ahead rather than turning around to see if there was any activity in the park.

The world around her was pure pastoral America. There were a few farmhouses, barns, and fields. In between those were stands of woods, their trees stripped and naked of leaves. The smell of woodsmoke filled her senses, and the sounds of lowing farm animals reminded her of her own youth spent in the country just outside Oakwood. In a very strange way it was all incredibly beautiful, but on this occasion, with so much hanging in the balance, there was nothing comforting about it.

The quietness of the rural world was invaded by the sound of a vehicle on the road behind her. Suddenly she was frightened. Who was it, and where were they going? As the rubber tires made crunching noises on the gravel, she was tempted to glance back. But she knew she shouldn’t. Even when the vehicle was just a few feet behind her, she kept walking, her face forward, one foot following another. It was only when the pick-up truck pulled up beside her that her curiosity overcame her fear, and she turned her head ever so slightly to the left.

“Hello, miss,” a man in a flannel shirt and bib overalls yelled out over the engine’s noise, “I noted the car back at Mulligan’s Rest Stop. Was that yours? Are you having some trouble?”

The lanky man’s smile and friendly tone spelled out his genuine concern. At any other time she would have welcomed it. But not today! She didn’t need a friend; she needed solitude. Thus she had to get him to move on as quickly as possible.

“No, I’m fine and so is my car,” she assured him as she continued to move toward the south. “I just wanted to take a walk and loosen up a bit. I’ve been in the car for a while. I needed to stretch.”

“I’d be happy to give you a ride if you need one,” he called back. “If you’re having some kind of trouble there’s no harm in admitting it. No one is going to hurt you.”

“No,” she answered, forcing a smile. “I just come from a long line of walkers. My family always said a walk puts things in proper perspective. So no matter where I am, I try to get a little exercise in every day. This looked like a real safe spot to me.”

He nodded. “No doubt about the safe part. Everyone around here is real friendly. Well, if you’re sure you aren’t having any trouble, I’ll move along. Enjoy the fine day.”

“Thanks,” Carole replied. She gave a slight wave as the man picked up speed. It was only when he was fully past her that she noted the milk cans in the back of his trunk. He must have been on his way to town to deliver a load. For him it was just another day. How she longed for the time when she’d have just another day again.

After the truck topped a hill, she looked down and pulled her coat sleeve back from her arm to check her watch. She’d dropped the car off ten minutes before. She still had twenty minutes of walking south before she turned around and headed back. She was sure those fifty minutes would likely be the longest of her life.

She was pretty much prayed out, so she opted to sing as she walked. As her short legs pushed forward, she thought of a hymn they often sang in church—“Farther Along.” The song’s message, which questioned why bad things happened to good people, resonated in her soul. While the fact that there might not be any earthly answers to that age-old question offered no comfort at all, the melody spoke to her at the moment, as did the chorus, “Cheer up, my brother, walk in the sunshine, we’ll understand it all by and by.” She needed to understand, and she hoped someday in the not-so-distant future, she would.

It was “Farther Along,” “Amazing Grace,” and a few other gospel standards that kept her company as the minutes passed. She was singing “Nearer My God to Thee” when she hit the half hour mark and turned around. At the forty-minute point she was embracing the strains of “Just a Little Talk with Jesus,” and ten minutes later she was humming “The Great Speckled Bird.” She kept singing until 10:58, when she rounded a bend and the rest stop came into view.

“No,” she whispered. Straining, she studied the scene again. The Packard wasn’t there. There was nothing there except for the trees, the table, and the trash can.

Pushed by terror, she broke out into a sprint. Racing across the road to the table, she craned her head in every direction. There was no car and there was no Rose. What had happened? What had gone wrong?

Panic gripped her, squeezing her heart with viselike power that brought her down to her knees. “No,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, “no, no, no!”

Pushing off the ground she looked in every direction as she screamed, “Rose! Are you here, Rose? Rose, answer me! It’s your mother! Rose!”

She screamed until she was hoarse and on the verge of collapse, and still there was no answer. No one called back. She was totally alone, two and a half miles from George, with no car and no hope. Not knowing what else to do, she staggered back onto the road and headed north. So tired so could barely stand, she forced one foot in front of the other, swaying like a drunk as she fought to keep moving. She was less than a mile from Prairie Center when she reached the breaking point and collapsed in a heap on the side of the road. Exhausted and defeated, she didn’t even attempt to rise. It was over—she knew that—and now nothing mattered anymore.

Chapter 26

S
ir!”

George Hall was leaning against a tree just down from the garage in Prairie Center when he heard a man in grease-covered pants calling out to him. What would he want with him? Unless the man had decided that George was a suspicious stranger who was up to no good … How would he talk his way out of that? Explaining that his wife had dropped him to wander around the tiny hamlet was not going to be easy. He couldn’t tell the truth, and there were no lies that would even begin to make any sense. Still he couldn’t just ignore the man. Unfolding his arms from over his chest he pushed off the tree and waved. “Yes.”

“This might sound strange,” he said as he came closer, “but do you know a woman that was walking down the road? This lady is kind of small, blond, and is wearing gray slacks and a tweed coat.”

“That’s my wife,” George answered, moving quickly forward to meet the smaller, wiry stranger. Why was she walking? Did she have car problems?

“Well, Slim O’Conner,” the stranger explained, “a farmer who lives down the road a bit, just found her. She’d collapsed or something. He wasn’t sure. Slim took her over to the preacher’s place. Reverend Willis’s wife, Jenny, has some nurse’s training. You want me to take you over there?”

“Please,” George frantically replied.

“My old jalopy is beside the garage. It doesn’t look like much, but it runs just fine. The parsonage is just about half a mile south of here.”

The men hurried over to the ancient Dodge coupe and jumped in. As promised, the car fired right up, and the man pushed the rusting vehicle south down the dusty road. A few minutes later he pulled into the drive of a white house located about a quarter mile from a community church.