Thrown to the Wolves (The Faith in Peril Trilogy) (11 page)

Jacob broke off another branch, hurling it at the wolf. He stepped aside, but the end caught him on the rump, and the animal growled. “Go away! Leave our dog alone!”

Hope suddenly flared within me. Could we save Molly? I reached for a branch, tugging on it, until it snapped. I was about to throw it when a kerfuffle occurred. The animals became even more frenzied than before, with the alpha howling heartily, although the tone sounded higher in pitch. Before I could throw the stick, Molly jumped to her feet, darting into the foliage, and disappearing from sight. The white wolf gave chase, as the others followed. Their sounds carried in the forest, like cries of ecstasy, while Molly shrieked, the sound cut off abruptly.

I glanced at Jacob. “We did everything we could for her. Throwing that stick was a brilliant idea.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he said softly, sitting on the branch with his shoulders concave. “Wish we could’ve done more.”

“She fought bravely,” said Anna. “We fought bravely as well.”

“It was God’s will.” The howling and yelping continued, and I surmised the wolves were greedily devouring our pet. “We’ll see Molly again in heaven.” I wanted to weep, feeling the prick of tears, but I forced them away. I needed to remain strong.

My parents handled death with acceptance and pragmatism, because they knew it as a part of the evolving cycle of life. We would all die one day too, yet having to bear witness to such tragedy remained difficult. Knowing Molly died, and hearing the commotion in the distance, I hung my head, desperately holding back the tears.

“When can we go down?” asked Anna. “I’m scared. I don’t want them to attack me.” She sat on a branch, her feet dangling below.

“I don’t know.”

“The wolves don’t want anything to do with humans,” said Jacob. “They came for the dog. Her running around caught their attention.”

“Won’t they come eat us too?” asked Anna. Her face was ashen, and I worried for her.

Without another thought, I slid from the branch, my feet touching the ground. Hurrying to her tree, I grasped at the rough bark, hauling myself upwards. Anna and I stood on the same branch, and I reached for her, hugging her. “It’s going to be all right. They’re gone now, but we’ll wait for a bit before getting down.” She trembled in my arms, her face tear-streaked.

“This has been a very bad day,” she murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

“I know. That was dreadful, but we’ve had food and water. We must count our blessings. We’re alive.” I brushed a lock of blonde hair from her eyes. “The important thing is we’re together and unharmed. I don’t have a scratch on me. Neither do you. Jacob’s just fine. That’s all we need to concern ourselves with.”

“But we’re stuck in trees, and our dog was eaten by wolves.”

“Yes, that may be, but they’ve left us alone.” The sounds in the distance had lessened, as the animals settled in for the feast, although one small dog did not a meal make.

They won’t come back and eat us, will they?

Gracious, I hope not.

Why, why haven’t we been rescued? How much longer must we suffer like this?

Try to be strong, Rebekah. You’re the oldest, and you need to be strong. Jacob and Anna look up to you. You need more strength now than you have. Pretend if you must, but someone has to take control, or everything will fall apart.

“We’ll wait a bit,” said Jacob. He reached for a higher branch. Then he began to climb.

Alarm raced through me. “What are you doing?”

“I wonder if I can see anything.”

“Please be careful.” I gazed at him, his small, yet sturdy body lifting from branch to branch.

“I’ve been climbing trees my whole life. I’m good at this.”

“See if you can tell which way the sun is setting,” said Anna.

“I doubt he can go that high.” If anything happened to Jacob … I couldn’t let myself think about that. Even contemplating such a thing was too terrible. “The animals are quiet now. I don’t hear the howling.”

“Or gunfire.”

“No, everything’s … too quiet.”

“I agree.”

“Do you think the wolves will leave us alone?”

“I hope so. I’ve been praying they go away.”

“They did go,” I said, craning my neck to glimpse Jacob climbing ever higher. “Oh, Jacob. That’s far enough.”

“I need to see over these trees. The limbs are still sturdy. I’m perfectly fine, girls. Just a bit more.”

“Do you see the wolves?”

“No.”

I glanced at Anna. “They might’ve eaten and gone.”

“We can only hope.”

“Jacob, please come down now.” He hung far overhead, his small body grasping and climbing with skill.

“I can’t go any higher,” he said. “I … oh, that’s just great.”

“What?” asked Anna. “Do you see something?”

“Lots of trees. We’re nowhere near open land. I don’t see nothin’. Rotten eggs.” He sounded dismayed.

“Which way is the sun?” I asked.

“Over there.” He pointed to our right.

“I wonder what time it is?”

“Afternoon,” said Anna, shrugging. “I’m not sure. We were up very early. It might even be morning still.”

“No, it’s later than that. The shadows are expanding. It’s afternoon or later. If it’s going in that direction, then south is this way. I do believe we live more towards the south, don’t you?”

She gave me a look that was a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. “I’ve no idea.”

I sighed. “I don’t hear the wolves anymore. I’m getting down.”

“Be careful, Jacob,” called Anna. “Come down now. We’re going down.”

“I am. That was a waste of time,” he said. “We’ve really gone and done it now. We’re all turned around.”

“I think we’ve ascertained that fact. We’re very, very lost,” muttered Anna. “There’s little we can do, but try to survive.”

“We need walking sticks,” I said. “We need something for protection.”

“I wish we had a knife. That way we could sharpen the sticks.” Anna glanced at Jacob, who had descended rapidly, looking like a small monkey, clinging limb to limb with surprising grace. “Did you bring a knife?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s not helpful at all.”

“You can sharpen a stick on rocks. It’ll take forever, but it can be done.”

I gazed into the distance, seeing nothing but bushes and trees. The wolves had grown silent, and I suspected they had left. “While we’re sitting by the fire tonight, we’ll sharpen sticks. What else can we do to pass the time?”

Jacob dropped to the ground. “I say we move on. We’ve been here long enough.” He picked up the walking stick and the metal bucket. “Come on, girls.”

“Let’s go in this direction,” I said, determined to take charge of the situation. “South is this way, and that’s where our house is.”

Anna’s expression was dubious. “If you say so.”

I ignored that. “Let’s have a song too. I think “Unser Vater” might be nice.”

“I’ll start it,” said Jacob, striding ahead.

As he began to sing, I cast a weary glance around, praying the wolves had truly left. I hoped what Jacob said was true and that the animals did not care for humans. I could not imagine what would happen to us, if they decided we might make a tasty meal. It became imperative we find sticks to protect ourselves, and I eyed the ground, while walking, looking for the perfect piece of wood. We needed more food, although a bushel of onions hung from my apron. While Anna and Jacob sang, I began to pray fervently for help, begging for a rescue. How much longer would this go on?

***

We walked for hours, my body finding a rhythm, arms and legs working in tandem, the feet lifting to avoid roots and rocks. We sang on and off, the music helping the time go by, although none of us knew if we hiked in the right direction, or if we continued to flounder further from home. Shadows lengthened, and the crickets began to resound, indicating the day had indeed grown long. I wasn’t as weary as I thought I should be, despite the fact that I had not slept at all the night before.

During the course of this exercise, my mind had begun to wander, taking flight even, until I experienced an epiphany. Growing up in the Amish faith and observing those around me, I had seen enough to know that we all struggled in one capacity or another. Our beliefs deny the outside world, a world we have been warned against as an evil influence. We consider anything that brings us further from God evil. The struggle comes from giving ourselves over to the Lord fully, without clinging to self will. The
uffgevva
, as we call it, requires a complete surrender to God and an ongoing need for humility. Even though I had been baptized, I had never entirely surrendered.

Being lost in the woods, trapped and hopeless, reminded me of oppressive circumstances, similar to the ones we experience in our society. But … it might only be so because I feared it and fought it. During that long afternoon, when no one spoke and our feet continued to move, I thought about God. Did He want us to give in to nature? It became apparent we would not be rescued now or perhaps even tomorrow, thus giving us little choice in the matter. We remained helpless in the elements until He deemed us worthy enough of rescue.

With this new line of thinking—my acceptance of these circumstances—I began to gaze around with sharper eyes, looking at every bush as if it might provide sustenance, every mushroom as it might be edible, and the water possibly drinkable. I found a fine-looking stick lying upon the leaves by the bank of a small river, where we had stopped to obtain water. Although wet, the stick would dry overnight. It could be useful tomorrow. An idea struck, while watching small fish darting back and forth. Removing my
kapp
, I tied the strings to the stick, dipping the hat into the water, hoping to catch one of the little creatures.

Seeing what I had done, Jacob said, “That’s interesting, Rebekah. I hope it works.”

“I don’t know.” I needed the
kapp
to act like a net. The creatures darted away from the disturbance, except for one little fish, which I caught. “Oh, yes!” I lifted it from the water, watching the clear-colored animal flapping helplessly. “Well, there’s something.”

Jacob grinned. “I’ll be darned. You’re a good fisherman.”

“I only caught one. It’s so small. It’s hardly a meal.”

“Try again,” said Anna. “I’ll do the same with my
kapp
. If we can get a handful, that’s better than nothing.”

“We could play a game, and the one who catches the most wins,” I said.

“Fine, but you’ll do better. You have more patience.”

“It’s easy. Just move it like a net. Our
kapps
are perfect for this sort of thing.”

Jacob removed his hat. “I’m going further downstream and trying it there.”

“Just be careful,” I said. “Those rocks look slick.”

“I can take care of myself. I climbed the tallest tree in the forest today. A couple of rocks won’t bother me.”

I shook my head at his bravado.

Our fishing efforts yielded a dozen or more small fish, which we suspected of being minnows, and Jacob found several freshwater mussels. Not wanting to walk any further, we chose a camping spot, setting about collecting rocks for the fire and enough dry wood to see us through the night. While Jacob worked to light the fire, rubbing one stick against another with kindling beneath, Anna and I scoured the woods for food, finding another bushel of onions and several mushrooms, which we felt were safe enough to eat.

When we returned with our treasures, Jacob had made a fine blaze, the flames licking hungrily at the twigs and branches. I had found a flattened rock, having positioned it near the edge of the fire pit, where I hoped I would be able to cook the little fish and mussels. We tied the onions by their stems to branches, hanging them over the flames. The aroma of roasting onions teased my nose, while my belly protested noisily. Having only consumed berries and water today, my hunger would not be ignored.

“It’s not a lot, but it’ll have to do,” I said. Anna leaned over my shoulder, while I prodded the little fish with a stick, turning a few over.

“It’s not enough to survive on.”

“Yes it is. It’s enough to get us through one more night.”

“I suppose. The onions smell nice. I’ll eat the green bits too. I don’t care. I’m positively starved.”

“What about the mushrooms?” Jacob handed them to me. “Are these poisonous?”

They looked white and puffy. “Those look fine.”

“They’re not the poisonous kind,” agreed Anna. “Good job, Jacob. That’ll add nicely to everything; although, now that they’re cooked, the fish are even smaller.”

I shrugged. “There isn’t much I can do about that.” Our
kapps
hung over the end of branches, drying. It felt strange being without my head covering. “We can eat soon. We need plates.”

“Like big leaves?” Anna looked hopeful.

“Yes. Go find some big leaves, then we can pray.”

A short while later, tiny fish, roasted onions, and a mussel apiece filled our plates of vibrant green leaves. We said our prayers, ending with the Lord’s Prayer, and ate, sitting on the ground with our legs crossed before us. The fish had been cooked on a rock, with bits of dirt, yet I ate them gratefully, although they were not very filling. The onions were raw on the inside and the mussel tasted slightly slimy. Despite the mushy texture of the mushrooms, I persevered, eating everything on the leaf. The bucket provided drinking water and we all shared lengthy sips.

Weariness had settled in then, as I remained determined to be strong and brave, although I had relied solely on Him for this fortitude. My strength had begun to wane. I had given myself over to nature, and nature had provided, although the meal had not been enough to truly satisfy me. The food would keep us alive, and that was all we could ask for at this point.

“Oh, my!” Anna jumped to her feet, her face brimming with excitement. “Look! Look!”

“What is it?” I stood, brushing dirt from my dress, seeing someone moving towards us through the gloomy dusk of the forest. Sunset was fast-approaching. “Is it Dat? Is it David?”