Thrown to the Wolves (The Faith in Peril Trilogy) (12 page)

“A man comes!” Jacob grinned. “It’s one of our own. I’d recognize that felt hat anywhere.”

“Who is it?” I asked, trying to see better, squinting at the advancing stranger. Anna’s laughter perplexed me. “What’s so funny?”

“I know who it is.”

“Your eyesight is better than mine.”

“Hello!” shouted Jacob. “Are you here to rescue us?”

“I am,” answered a deep voice.

I glanced at Anna, who held a hand to her mouth, hiding a grin. I knew that voice, and, as the man approached, striding towards us with a jaunty spring to his step, I felt a combination of things: relief, regret, confusion, but most of all, chagrin. God, it seemed, had a strange sense of humor.

Chapter Nine

“Are you all well?” asked Daniel Stoltzfus, his expression concerned, yet interested. “Is anyone hurt?” He wore trousers and a coat, with a rifle in his hands.

“We’re fine,” said Anna. “But our dog, Molly, is dead. She was attacked by a pack of wolves.”

His mouth fell open. “Truly? We’ve had problems with them. They kill livestock, but they don’t normally seek out humans.” I seemed to have his full attention. “You seem well, Rebekah.”

Of all the people in our community, how on earth was
he
the only one who had found us? “Where’s my father? Is he coming?”

He placed the rifle against a tree, turning to face me. “Many people are looking for you. I joined the search as soon as I heard you went missing. Your Dat and brother are more northerly, I believe. Others went west and east. I skirted around the edges and came this way.” I found his smile bewildering. “I’m glad I was right.”

“Did you bring food?” asked Jacob. “I’m starvin’.”

“I’ve some dried meat in a pouch.”

“Oh, that’s heavenly,” said Anna. “I’m so glad we won’t have to spend another night in the woods. I can’t wait to see Mam.”

Jacob jumped excitedly. “Me too! I’m dying for some hot chocolate and apple pie.”

“Not so fast,” said Daniel, holding up a hand. “You’re miles from any farm and night’s approaching.” He glanced at the fire. “You’ve already chosen a campsite. We can’t go back now. It’ll be dark soon.”

I had been expecting this. “How far out are we?”

“A great distance.”

Anna groaned. “We never should’ve been allowed in the woods alone. We’re far too stupid to be trusted to go on a walk.” She sat by the fire, folding her arms over her knees. “There’s nothing to be done about it tonight. At least he has a weapon. I feel far better knowing that. I don’t want to be eaten by a wolf.”

Daniel reached into a knapsack, which had been slung across his shoulder. “Here. You may eat it all. There should be enough for everyone.”

“Thank you kindly, sir,” said Jacob, taking the bag from him.

“Are you responsible for the fire?”

“I certainly am.” My brother stood as tall as he could, although still shorter than Daniel by three feet. “I’ve been taking care of everything.”

“What a fine little man.” He grinned.

Not knowing what else to do and feeling awkward by the arrival of our rescuer, I sat next to Anna, staring at the fire, which blazed heartily. The last person I had wanted to see was Daniel Stoltzfus, and yet, he stood before me.

“Why aren’t they firing more?” asked Anna. “If they had kept shooting, we could’ve followed the sound home.”

“Ah, you remind me,” said Daniel. “I’m to shoot three times, if I find you. Cover your ears.” He grasped the rifle, holding it to his shoulder, while pointing the muzzle into the forest. The noise carried for some distance. “I’m not certain they can hear that. We’re far off track. You’ve managed to clear that ridgeline, and the sound might not travel as well.”

“Will they fire back?” I asked.

“If they hear it.”

“How do you know the way home?”

He grinned. “I’ve tied orange ribbons to the trees. An old hunting trick.”

“We tied parts of our dresses to the trees,” said Anna. “Did you see those?”

“No.”

“That’s not surprising,” I said, with a trace of glumness. “We’re the worst explorers ever. I’ll never go in the forest again.”

“What happened with the wolves?” Daniel left the rifle against the tree, joining us by the fire, where he sat near Jacob.

“Our dog is one of the reasons we became lost,” said Anna. “She wouldn’t come when we called her, and we went after her. Then the sun went down, and we didn’t know where we were. She’s the worst pet, truly. She’s sweet enough, but not obedient at all.”

“She wouldn’t stay with us,” said Jacob. “She kept running off. She must’ve drawn the attention of the wolves.”

“They came upon us earlier,” I said. “We climbed trees to protect ourselves, but they … killed her.” Had that really happened? It seemed like a horrible dream.

He appeared sympathetic, his brows furrowing. “I’m sorry.”

“They won’t come back, will they?” asked Anna. “I haven’t heard a howl in hours.”

“They’ll leave us alone. I’ve a weapon, if I need it. They don’t typically hunt humans.”

Jacob dug through the bag of jerky, handing over a piece. “Here, Rebekah.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve done well for yourselves. I’m impressed.”

“But we were foolish for getting lost in the first place,” I said. “Now everyone is worried and searching for us. We’ve caused such a fuss.”

“Accidents happen. A forest in darkness is a confusing place. Anyone can get turned around in those conditions. I’ve gotten lost hunting. More than once.”

He behaved entirely polite, even charming, with a slight smile teasing the edges of his mouth, but I would not be swayed by the gratitude I felt at our rescue. I knew who he really was, and I refused to forget those memories.

“Yes, I suppose,” I murmured distractedly.

“Wasn’t someone going to shoot back?” asked Anna. “Did anyone hear those shots?”

“We’re down the ridge, so I’m not certain at all. It doesn’t matter tonight. We’ll see everyone tomorrow, but there’s a great deal of walking ahead of us. You’ve gone miles in.”

This news bothered me. I needed a moment to myself to process what had just happened. “I’m going for more water.” I stood, brushing leaves from the dress. I reached for the bucket.

Daniel’s eyes had widened with interest. “Where’s your source?”

Oh, fiddle sticks! He seemed ready to follow me. “It’s … it’s over there.”

“I’ll go with you.” He snatched the rifle from the side of the tree. “Lead the way.”

I cast one last look at Anna, grimacing. She smiled, which annoyed me. She knew how I loathed Daniel Stoltzfus, and now I would be alone with him. I had prayed for a rescue, asking—begging God to help us, but this was not what I had in mind.

“It’s right over here,” I said.

I led the way, lifting my feet over brambles and roots. The ends of the dress had been torn to shreds, but that hardly mattered. I did not wear my
kapp
, as it dried on a tree. Strands of hair had come loose, the blonde tresses falling to my shoulders. Being in the elements for the last two days, I knew I appeared a mess, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“I’m glad I found you.”

Those words were unexpected and unwelcome. “Well, we prayed for help, and … it came.”

“But you would’ve preferred being found by your Dat. I understand.”

“Or my brother.” We neared the water’s edge, working our way down a slight embankment. “There it is.” I pointed.

“Thank you.” He left the rifle against a tree, bending to wash his face and hands.

“It’s nearly dark.” I wasn’t as frightened now, being here in the dusk with a man I loathed, but he had a weapon. “It’s a shame we can’t go back tonight.”

“If we had lanterns, yes, but we don’t.” He scrubbed his face vigorously.

I decided to do the same, kneeling more than five feet away from him, not wanting to get too close. The water felt cold, yet refreshing. “Like I said, it’s a shame.”

He sat by the flowing brook, his feet inches from the water. “You’re not happy to see me, but you’re never happy to see me.”

“We needn’t talk about this.”

“But we should. We might never have another chance.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you, Daniel Stoltzfus. You know how I feel.”

“Actually, I don’t.” His eyes roamed over me, which felt invasive and unnecessary. Why must he stare like that? “I’ve dozens of questions, Rebekah. I’m hoping you’ll talk to me.”

“What’s there to say?”

“Why won’t you let me court you?”

Oh, rotten eggs! He remained terribly persistent about this infernal subject. “A woman can refuse a man. I don’t need to explain myself.”

“I’d like to know what you object to so much. Is it my looks? Am I too ugly for you? Is my manner too coarse? Have I offended you in some way? As I recall, we used to talk, years ago. We’d walk to school together. What happened to change all that?”

He doesn’t remember! That event had been so inconsequential; he’d erased it from his mind. “I … object … because I object.” I did not wish to discuss this, wanting to return to camp. I moved towards him, hoping to pass, but he jumped to his feet, grabbing my arm. “Sir!”

“Why do you object?” Anger and concern creased the skin on his forehead. “Please tell me, so I can right the wrong. I’ve obviously offended you in some manner, or else you wouldn’t feel this way.”

“It’s not me, sir. It’s not me you should apologize to.” I tugged on my arm, but his grasp remained firm. “Ouf! Let go!”

“That’s far too vague. Talk to me, Rebekah. Tell me why I must apologize. What have I done?”

“You truly don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

His behavior that day had been despicable, and he could not recollect it, thereby leaving me to believe he dealt with people in that manner often. “I … we are different creatures, Daniel. You and I clash in nearly every way. We’ve nothing in common other than we’re Amish. That’s why I have no desire to court you.”

He let go of my arm, but his expression remained unchanged. “I disagree. Please tell me why you hate me. You remember something I don’t, but, if you’ll enlighten me, perhaps we can talk about it.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it. If you can’t remember your own poor behavior, why should I mention it? Treating people with disdain and violence is of no consequence to you.”

“Violence?”

“Yes, violence.”

“What are you talking about?”

Anger swelled within me, as this was precisely what I had not wanted to discuss. “Never mind.”

“Rebekah!” He tugged on the apron, preventing my departure. “When have I been violent?”

“It was long ago, far too long, I suppose. You obviously don’t remember. Or it was of little importance to you.”

“Then tell me!”

“Let go!” He released the grip he had on my clothing.

“If I’ve done wrong, I should know. Why don’t I remember?”

“It was something that happened at school. It was something I saw you do. You saw me too. You know I was there.”

Something flickered in his eye. “I remember.”

“Do you?”

“And this you still hold against me?”

“I don’t hold it against you, but I don’t condone it. I would never treat someone that way. I don’t want to be with people who are like that.”

He rubbed his chin, which sported shorn hair. “I see.”

Was that all he had to say on the subject? I could expect no more from him? “Then we have nothing left to discuss.” I began to walk away.

“Rebekah.”

“Yes?”

“Might I have the chance to defend myself?” He shook his head. “I mean, to explain. I can’t justify or defend what I did, but I hope you’ll let me explain.”

I turned to face him, wanting to deny him, but something prevented it. He looked defeated, forlorn, and crushed.
You mustn’t feel sympathy for him! Don’t!
But I knew I would, because I had been brought up to practice forgiveness. This would not be easy. “I have little choice in the matter. God has seen it fit to throw us together in the wilderness. I’m a captive audience now, aren’t I?”

“I don’t want to force this on you. I’ll only speak about the matter, if you agree to listen—if you want to listen.”

“But I don’t. If I could be honest, and I will be, I don’t want anything from you. Your explanation isn’t necessary. It won’t change a thing.” Something flashed in his eyes, and I got the distinct impression it was pain. I sighed, irritated that I had been put in this position. “If you wish to speak about it, I’ll listen.”

“Will you listen with an open mind?”

“Are you accusing me of being judgmental?”

“You’ve judged me for something I’ve done years ago, so, yes.”

“You’re begging me to listen to you, yet you antagonize me.”

“Stubborn to the core.” He sported a rueful, half-hearted smile.

“Only where you’re concerned.” I had spoken too bluntly, but it was impossible to take it back.

“Then you’ll hate me either way. It doesn’t matter what I say.”

“I don’t hate you. I’ve forgiven you. It’s our way, and you know it. That’s why there’s nothing more to say about this subject.”

“But there is, because … I adore you. You spurn me every time we meet, but I still adore you.”

Stunned, I tried to gather my wits. “You’ve some strange romantic notions, Daniel Stoltzfus. And you’re stubborn as well, to the point of idiocy. When the person you covet detests you, why on earth would you continue to harbor affection towards them?”

“I’ve asked myself that question many times. So you do hate me.”

“Detest is not hate.”

“Close enough.”

“I’ll listen to you. I owe you that much. You’ve come all this way to rescue us.”

“I came for you.”

And now my anger rose, because something in those words moved me, although I disliked the feeling. A breeze blew a strand of hair into my face, and, before I could to fix it, he reached out. “You mustn’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go back. They’re wondering what happened to us.” I began to walk away, but the weight of unspoken words lingered. The confusion of being near Daniel had grown even more pronounced. “Are you coming?”

“I’ve been patient for years,” he murmured. “I can wait another day.”