Miriam can be together again, and so you can be safe. Do you understand?”
She cocked her head and furrowed her brow as if listening to a rustling sound coming from the unfinished portion of the attic.
He bristled. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you hear them?” she asked, feigning an unfounded confidence in her voice.
His face blanched.
“Rats, Victor. They’re in the attic.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The fear that flashed from his eyes proved what Sarah had assumed was true.
“Feed Mother her breakfast,” he ordered as he hurried out of the room.
From the open doorway, Sarah watched him race down the stairs to save himself from the rats. If she could only escape as easily.
Her momentary euphoria at having unsettled him was short-lived. Exhausted from lack of sleep and weeks of confinement, Sarah dropped her head in her hands. Hot tears burned her eyes. Would she ever be free again?
“Send someone to help me, Lord,” she pleaded, her heart breaking at the hopelessness of her plight. “I don’t want to die trapped in this old house.”
* * *
Joachim Burkholder guided the buggy along the mountain road. He had come home like the prodigal son. Except he had not squandered money or lived a life of debauchery. He was, instead, coming home to reconcile with his father. At least that was his plan.
Metanoia, some called it, a conversion or transformation, which was what Joachim had started to experience. Now, he needed to piece his broken life back together. He had tried to live Englisch. His heart remained Amish.
Jostling the reins, he encouraged the mare forward. Together he and Belle had traveled from farm to farm to farm. Joachim had worked odd jobs and saved his earnings until his yearning to come home had caused him to slowly retrace his steps.
Belle increased her speed as Joachim took in the rolling hills and lush valleys. How deeply he had missed the beauty of this land and the serenity of the Amish way of life.
Gott, he silently prayed, forgive my obstinate pride that forced me away from family and faith when I sought to place my will above Thy own.
The tranquil setting soothed Joachim’s troubled soul. He breathed in the loamy scent of Georgia clay mixed with fresh pine from the trees that dotted the side of the roadway. The cool morning air tugged at his black jacket and lulled him into a sense of peaceful calm that dissipated as soon at the buggy rounded the bend. At the bottom of the incline, a level plain stretched out in front of him. His gut tightened as he recognized this particular section of the road home he had inadvertently taken.
Was he trying to add more burden to his already guilt-laden shoulders? Why had he guided Belle to the very spot he had never wanted to pass through again? Some memories were too hard to bear.
He glanced back, debating whether to turn around, retrace his journey and take the longer route that would circumvent this place of pain.
Joachim squared his shoulders, refusing to cower. He needed to face the past to heal. He felt sure that was the advice the bishop would provide when and if he sought to return fully to his Amish faith.
As he turned his gaze to the intersection ahead, Joachim’s chest constricted. The morning sunlight filtered through the gray sky overhead, yet for a moment, he stepped back in time as the memory of that night assailed him. He heard the rhythmic clip-clop of horses’ hooves against the pavement and the creak of the two buggies as they strained along the ill-fated path.
In his mind’s eyes, he saw Eli turn and laugh at Joachim, who followed close behind in the second buggy. The ongoing competition between the two brothers had taken a tragic turn that night.
At eighteen, Joachim should have known better than to go along with the seemingly innocent challenge. He did not blame his brother. Nor had his datt blamed Eli. Instead, his father had blamed Joachim.
Once again, he remembered how Eli had egged him on, ignoring the roar of the oncoming vehicle and the headlights speeding too fast.
Joachim had raised his voice in warning. “A car approaches on the road.” But Eli had not heard and had not reacted.
The crash of metal and splintering wood echoed in Joachim’s memory, along with the horrific cry that had come from his own throat as he screamed his brother’s name.
Five years had passed, yet Joachim’s grief was still so raw. “Gott, forgive me,” he whispered as he hurried Belle through the intersection.
Perhaps coming home to the mountains had been a mistake. What had happened could not be undone. No matter how Joachim tried to reconcile the past.
He needed longer to decide if he was ready to contact his father. Work would help. Using his hands and carpentry skills to transform disrepair into integrity would allow him to see more clearly. If he could hole up somewhere, he might be able to stem the figurative bleeding of his wounded heart and come to terms with his future and the way he wanted to live his life.
Belle flicked her head.
“You want to go home, girl. I know. But I need more time.”
The turnoff to the old Thomin homestead appeared in the distance. The house had needed work five years ago. If Hazel Thomin were still alive, the elderly lady might hire Joachim to do odd jobs around the property while he tried to decide how he was going to piece his life together.
He pulled back on the reins to slow Belle’s pace, then nudged the mare onto the path that led to the grand home. The property had been in Mrs. Thomin’s family for generations, but what he saw made his spirits plummet even more. The house that had been regal in its day—some called it a mansion—now appeared wasted from neglect.
Joachim grimaced, noting the peeling paint and the sagging facade. The stately beauty had come under hard times and was in need of a steady hand that could restore her original beauty as well as her once-sturdy understructure.
He guided the buggy toward the front of the house and glanced up to see a young woman near Joachim’s age peering from a second-story window. Blond hair hung around her slender face. She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment. His chest tightened in response to the need he recognized, even at this distance, in her pensive gaze. Before he could acknowledge her presence, she stepped away, leaving him confused by the tangle of emotion that wrapped around his heart.
Joachim pulled the horse to a stop and jumped to the ground as the front door opened. Victor Thomin stepped outside, coffee mug in hand. Tall and skinny with unkempt red hair, Hazel Thomin’s only child had not improved in looks—or, it seemed, in temperament—over the last five years.
With a surly grunt, Victor raised the mug to his lips and drank deeply, his beady eyes intent on Joachim, even as he wiped the back of his hand over his thin lips. A cut festered that had spattered his knuckles with dried blood.
Recalling the baleful glance of the woman at the window, Joachim made a connection that caused his eyes to widen in horror—though he immediately reminded himself that it could be wild speculation and not credible in the least. He had
