buried his face against Rebecca. His hat fell off once again. The two other women laughed. Onkel Samuel, in the driver’s seat, either couldn’t hear or was ignoring the womenfolk.
Sarah said, “He will be less shy once he sees the horses and cows and chickens, ain’t so?”
Matthew sneaked a peek Sarah’s way.
Rebecca would have smiled if it hadn’t hurt. “He was fascinated by Onkel Abe’s horse. I don’t think he’s ever been close enough to pet one before. He went to a birthday party this spring that included pony rides, but that’s it.”
Aenti Emma beamed at Matthew. “He will like our horses.”
Rebecca let out a breath that seemed to drain her, mostly in a good way. She wouldn’t be able to stay here forever, but for now she and Matthew were safe. She couldn’t imagine Tim or Josh would think to look for her among the Amish, or succeed if they tried. She’d told Tim that her mother had grown up Amish, had mentioned summers with her grandparents, but would he remember? Would he know Mamm’s maiden name? Or that those summers had been spent in Missouri? He’d rolled his eyes at the idea she had been happy even temporarily in what he considered a backward, restricted life, and she doubted he’d really listened when she talked about family. Because of his lack of interest, she hadn’t mentioned her Amish roots in a very long time. And where the Amish were concerned, most people thought Pennsylvania or Ohio. An investigator could find her mother’s maiden name on her marriage certificate, but no one from her family had attended the wedding or signed as a witness.
Graber wasn’t quite as common a surname as some among the Amish, but there were Grabers in many settlements, so tracing her wouldn’t be easy. In many ways, the Amish lived off the grid. They weren’t in any phone directory unless their business was listed. They didn’t need driver’s licenses, and they didn’t contribute to federal social security or draw from it. Living on a cash basis, none of the Amish Grabers would be found in a credit-agency search, either. They did have Social Security numbers, or at least many of them did, because they paid federal income taxes and state and local taxes. Still, would a private investigator have access to income-tax records?
She had done her best to complicate any pursuit by initially flying to Chicago, then backtracking by bus to Des Moines, where she and Matthew had switched to various local buses, paying cash. They finally wended their way to Kalona, Iowa, where more of Rebecca’s relatives lived. Having received a note from Aenti Emma, Aenti Mary and Onkel Abe Yoder had kept her arrival and departure as quiet as possible. Their bishop and some members of their church district knew that their niece and her child had fled something bad and needed help. If an outsider came asking questions, she had confidence they’d pretend ignorance. Staying reserved was their way even when they had nothing to hide.
The unquestioning generosity still shook her. Even though Mamm had jumped the fence—left her faith—to marry Dad, the family considered Rebecca and now her son their own. She’d never even met the Iowa relatives, and yet they’d welcomed her with open arms.
Once she and Matthew were appropriately garbed, another cousin had driven them several towns away, where they caught yet another bus. They had meandered south into Missouri, changing buses frequently. By this time, Rebecca’s entire body ached until she could hardly pick out the new pains from the places that already hurt when they set out from San Francisco. But at last they were here.
Aenti Emma leaned forward and patted Rebecca’s knee with her work-worn hand. “Ach, here we are, talking and talking, when I can see you close to collapsing! Lunch and some sleep is what you need.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she admitted. A glance told her Matthew was nodding off already.
She was grateful when her aunt and cousin lapsed into silence and let her do the same.
She found herself thinking about the cop who had talked to Onkel Samuel just before they left town. A sudden certainty that someone was watching her had felt like icy fingertips brushing her nape. She’d known she should keep her head down so as not to draw attention, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking around. If Tim was already here, waiting for her... But then she’d seen the uniformed police officer, instead, as broad-shouldered and strong as the farmers and woodworkers she knew among the Amish, men who labored hard. His face was too hard to be handsome, too inexpressive, his eyes too steely. His cold scrutiny reminded her of the way Detective Estevez had looked at her. She guessed this police officer to be older than she was, perhaps in his midthirties. His hair was a sun-streaked maple brown that probably darkened in the cold Missouri winters.
Rebecca looked down to see that her hands were clenched together hard enough to turn the tips of her fingers white. With an effort, she loosened her grip. Yes, that man made her anxious. Had he only been interested in her because he’d noticed the bruises? But why had he been leaning against the building watching people get off the bus in the first place? Did he check out new arrivals every time the bus stopped in Hadburg? Was that one of his duties? In this rural county, she wouldn’t have thought the local police force would have the personnel to be so vigilant—unless they were watching for someone in particular. Could Detective Estevez have figured out where she’d gone already?
A bump in her pulse rate left her light-headed. She was being stupid. Estevez hadn’t bothered her since their one interview. Tim shouldn’t notice her disappearance until tomorrow, after he arrived to pick up Matthew for his scheduled visit. And violating the custody agreement wasn’t an offense that would draw police attention, certainly not at first. Would Tim even dare file a missing-person’s report on her or accuse her of custodial interference?
No, the last thing he wanted was to attract more attention from the police. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t hire a private investigator to find her, if he didn’t set out to do so himself. She wondered what he’d tell his father. Tim wouldn’t want the man to know his grandson was out of his reach.
And Josh. What would Tim tell the partner who’d been pressuring him? Would he try to protect her, as she was protecting him?
She feared not, given the results after she had gone to him about the shooting and the phone threat.
Aenti Emma swayed gently with the motion of the carriage, her gaze resting on Rebecca and Matthew.
“I saw Onkel Samuel talking to that police officer,” Rebecca blurted, not sounding as casual as she wanted. “Does he know him?”
“We all know Sheriff Byler. His family moved here when he was, oh, sixteen or so, you see.” An odd hint of discomfiture in her voice caught Rebecca’s attention, but Aenti Emma continued, “He went away and nobody knew for a long time what he was up to, but he became a police officer, of all things! And in the big city.” She shook her head, scandalized by the mere idea. Aenti Emma had probably never been as far as St. Joseph, let alone Kansas City. Why would a local boy want to leave placid Henness County for a place that was all concrete and towers of glass and steel and noise? Sirens and car horns and people shouting. So much noise.
“What city?” Rebecca asked, as if it made any difference.
“I heard he went to St. Louis. I guess he didn’t like it, because he came back three years ago and got the Englisch to vote for him to be sheriff. That Gerald Warren, who was sheriff before, nobody liked him. He was lazy, and he looked down on the people.”
The Leit, she meant. The Amish. Lazy Sheriff Warren wouldn’t have been alone. Even tourists equated plain with simpleminded and gullible. Rebecca’s mother used to talk about how much resentment was caused by the slow, horse-drawn buggies with metal wheels that wore ruts in roads, even though
