why? Who?
Even if she made it back into her yard, it would take her a
while to get the key out from under the rock where she kept it. Her pursuer
could easily catch her and hit her with that spade. There was no time to hang
something in the trees—no time for Ben to come. Maybe it was Burt Commons. That
looked like the spade she’d taken with her to confront him. Surely not Elam! And
the diamond thief had what he wanted, didn’t he?
She heard the person running again. If she beat this monster
out of the forest, she could shout for Ben and run across the bridge. But would
she make it? Her heart was pounding, she was nearly breathless, and she felt a
stitch in her side. Daring a quick look back, hearing but not seeing her
pursuer, Abby made a desperate decision.
When she neared the hollow log, she hit the ground and belly
crawled into its depths, lying there, panting and praying. If he had seen her,
she was trapped. The little knife she held would be useless against the blade of
that spade.
She tried not to breathe so hard. It was filthy in here, with
slugs and crawling things. She was so tensed up that her calf muscle cramped,
and tears ran down her cheeks at the pain. But she stayed silent.
At first, her haven muted outside sounds, but then she heard
his footsteps again in the dead leaves. Close. Very close. Then stopping.
She sucked in a big breath when he passed by the end of the
log, hesitated, then turned, evidently looking around. She could see he wore old
running shoes and worn jeans under the hemp sack. He must have taken that sack
from her garden. Maybe he’d been watching her for a long time. She willed Ben to
come looking for her before this man—he was pretty thin, like Burt Commons or
Elam—could find her hiding place.
She jumped when something hit the log. The spade? Dust, dirt
and bugs rained down on her. She shut her eyes and jammed her finger under her
nose so she wouldn’t sneeze. Had he figured out where she’d disappeared to? Was
he going to chop into the wood to get to her? Maybe he’d peeked inside and seen
her feet.
But, blessedly, he walked away. She couldn’t see him, even
peering out the little crack in the log, but she heard his footsteps scuffing
through the leaves, then fading. Or was that a trick? Though she wanted to crawl
out and bolt—if she could even run on her cramped leg—she stayed put, catching
her breath, trying to build her courage.
But it was anger that roiled through her. How dare someone
invade the places of her heart—her home, garden and woods, even the bridge the
other night! Who hated her that much to make her want to cower and suffer? What
had she done?
Trying to flex her sore leg, she lay there for what she judged
was about a half hour before she crawled forward and stuck her head out. What if
he was waiting for her near or even in her house? If she saw Ben’s truck was
still at his place, she was going to head straight for the bridge and run across
it to him.
As she limped past her house, she saw her hemp sacks thrown
atop the tall pile of logs with her crop of turkey tails, the spade thrust into
them. Worst of all, a piece of paper had been punched over the handle and now
flapped in the breeze. Abby could clearly make out the large, crudely printed
words in Deutsch and English: Raus Jetzt! Get out!
CHAPTER SEVEN
O NCE AGAIN Abby ran to
Ben. A fleeting thought crossed her mind—that the Lord kept throwing them
together despite Amish law that they must keep apart. And she needed Ben now
again, desperately.
She rushed to the rear door of his house so she couldn’t be
seen from across the river. Someone must have hiked into the woods behind her
house. Getting a car over there was nearly impossible, and the bridge was too
rickety to take such a heavy weight. The old road could be approached from
behind only by a roundabout drive from town.
Abby pounded on his back door with both fists. He opened it
with a large, half-carved piece of wood in his hand.
Even if she made it back into her yard, it would take her a
while to get the key out from under the rock where she kept it. Her pursuer
could easily catch her and hit her with that spade. There was no time to hang
something in the trees—no time for Ben to come. Maybe it was Burt Commons. That
looked like the spade she’d taken with her to confront him. Surely not Elam! And
the diamond thief had what he wanted, didn’t he?
She heard the person running again. If she beat this monster
out of the forest, she could shout for Ben and run across the bridge. But would
she make it? Her heart was pounding, she was nearly breathless, and she felt a
stitch in her side. Daring a quick look back, hearing but not seeing her
pursuer, Abby made a desperate decision.
When she neared the hollow log, she hit the ground and belly
crawled into its depths, lying there, panting and praying. If he had seen her,
she was trapped. The little knife she held would be useless against the blade of
that spade.
She tried not to breathe so hard. It was filthy in here, with
slugs and crawling things. She was so tensed up that her calf muscle cramped,
and tears ran down her cheeks at the pain. But she stayed silent.
At first, her haven muted outside sounds, but then she heard
his footsteps again in the dead leaves. Close. Very close. Then stopping.
She sucked in a big breath when he passed by the end of the
log, hesitated, then turned, evidently looking around. She could see he wore old
running shoes and worn jeans under the hemp sack. He must have taken that sack
from her garden. Maybe he’d been watching her for a long time. She willed Ben to
come looking for her before this man—he was pretty thin, like Burt Commons or
Elam—could find her hiding place.
She jumped when something hit the log. The spade? Dust, dirt
and bugs rained down on her. She shut her eyes and jammed her finger under her
nose so she wouldn’t sneeze. Had he figured out where she’d disappeared to? Was
he going to chop into the wood to get to her? Maybe he’d peeked inside and seen
her feet.
But, blessedly, he walked away. She couldn’t see him, even
peering out the little crack in the log, but she heard his footsteps scuffing
through the leaves, then fading. Or was that a trick? Though she wanted to crawl
out and bolt—if she could even run on her cramped leg—she stayed put, catching
her breath, trying to build her courage.
But it was anger that roiled through her. How dare someone
invade the places of her heart—her home, garden and woods, even the bridge the
other night! Who hated her that much to make her want to cower and suffer? What
had she done?
Trying to flex her sore leg, she lay there for what she judged
was about a half hour before she crawled forward and stuck her head out. What if
he was waiting for her near or even in her house? If she saw Ben’s truck was
still at his place, she was going to head straight for the bridge and run across
it to him.
As she limped past her house, she saw her hemp sacks thrown
atop the tall pile of logs with her crop of turkey tails, the spade thrust into
them. Worst of all, a piece of paper had been punched over the handle and now
flapped in the breeze. Abby could clearly make out the large, crudely printed
words in Deutsch and English: Raus Jetzt! Get out!
CHAPTER SEVEN
O NCE AGAIN Abby ran to
Ben. A fleeting thought crossed her mind—that the Lord kept throwing them
together despite Amish law that they must keep apart. And she needed Ben now
again, desperately.
She rushed to the rear door of his house so she couldn’t be
seen from across the river. Someone must have hiked into the woods behind her
house. Getting a car over there was nearly impossible, and the bridge was too
rickety to take such a heavy weight. The old road could be approached from
behind only by a roundabout drive from town.
Abby pounded on his back door with both fists. He opened it
with a large, half-carved piece of wood in his hand.
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