Keeping Secrets (43 page)

“No!” She screamed, then kicked, flung her arms, and hit the fat man with every ounce of her strength.

“Get in and drive!” The fat man’s accomplice instantly slid behind the wheel and locked the doors. Still she fought until the fat man shoved the sinister little pistol to her face.

Sadie became more terrified. She was being taken to an unknown destination, to an unknown end. And for what reason? She shuddered and slid back against the leather seat as the fat man encircled her wrists and ankles, the sticky tape digging into her flesh. The car was moving now, going down the side of the ridge.

Oh, Mark. It was then that she cried. If this was the way her life would end, then she was deeply aware of having had these short months with Mark and so very grateful of his love. That he had chosen her to be his wife still seemed like a miracle. The days they spent together were idyllic, except for the bad times, which, so far, had proved to be temporary.

What would he do? If there is such a thing as telepathy, a sort of mental communication, just let him know I’m safe, so far.

Then she remembered God. Of course, God was here. He knew where she was. Her fate was in his hands, not the hands of these men. He had the power to rescue her, keep her safe, or end her life. It was all in God’s hands.

How often had she heard that phrase?
In Gottes Hent.
Over and over, the Amish people used that phrase. It was the way they lived. The way they believed. Everything happened for a reason. To God on his throne, it all made perfect sense, so they lived simply, peacefully, not having to understand everything, their faith a substance of things not seen.

Like one of Mam’s homemade, pieced comforters, his presence wrapped itself around her shoulders, loosening the clutches of fear. As if God wanted to comfort her, she clearly remembered the story of a girl who had been kidnapped and knew to remain friendly, talkative, complying with her abductor until they became friends of a sort. They finally agreed on a compromise. The man who abducted her acknowledged that he needed help and became a much better person in the end.

Well, there were two kidnappers, and as far as she could tell, they were still hurtling along on an interstate. The joyous thought entered her mind of the driver going far over the speed limit, a police car overtaking them, being rescued, and these men being caught. Hopefully, the driver was pushing about a hundred.

She couldn’t swallow without straining, the duct tape biting into her cheeks and jaw every time she did. She desperately needed a drink and wondered how long a person could go without using a restroom. She thought of a tall glass of sparkling lemonade with chunks of ice, which made her swallow, bringing much more discomfort.

“Better watch it. Cops’ll be after you.” The driver slowed down.

Sadie was lulled to a stupor, a sort of gray area, neither asleep nor awake, but always aware of the moving vehicle and the men beside her. The emotions of fear and panic were blanketed with a fuzzy warmth, a dissociation from reality.

She didn’t know how long she stayed in this position; she only knew they were slowing, then came to a stop. The men exchanged a few whispered comments. The driver got out. She smelled gasoline, so she knew they were filling up at a service station. Was it dark outside? What time was it?

Please, please, let me have a drink of water. Her throat was beyond dry; it was ravaged with thirst. Any saliva she could summon was instantly absorbed by the rags, sponge, cotton, or whatever it was that they stuffed in her mouth.

The driver returned; they moved on. She heard tractor trailers moving slowly through the parking lot. Cars moved, honked their horns. The men were drinking something. She heard the crack and hiss as the fat man opened a bottle of soda pop, the liquid gurgling from the bottle down his throat.

She was so thirsty that she cried. Tears squeezed from between her lashes, wetting the blindfold. She was glad of the blindfold, absorbing the tears, her sign of weakness. She would have to be stronger. She would be. She would will away her thirst.

Her feet were going numb. The duct tape dug into her ankles and cut into her black stockings. Her hands throbbed. She imagined them growing twice as big and turning purple, then falling off. That’s what happened if you banded a little piggy’s tail. After the circulation was shut off for a length of time, it simply shriveled away to nothing and dropped off. She hoped it took hands a long, long time.

Her ears were pressed so hard against the side of her bonnet, she could barely feel them. If she moved her cheekbones, or imagined moving her ears, it helped. So she knew she could actually change the position of her ears, even if it was only for a short time before the numbness and tingling returned.

All night, they drove. Sadie alternated between sleep and a half-awake stupor. Her thirst raged in her throat now, a constant thing she could not escape. As a child, she had often imagined being kidnapped, the pain of fetters, but never could anyone imagine the cruelty of her thirst. No wonder people died of thirst way before they succumbed to hunger.

The vehicle stopped. The back door opened. She lurched awake, strained against her blindfold, screamed a silent scream of alarm when rough hands seized her.

“Get out.”

Sadie tried to wiggle the duct tape loose, leaned forward, swung her legs over the side of the seat. The air was cold and wet, sharp as a knife against her senses.

“Loosen her feet.”

Sadie brought her teeth together, clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry out. If she moved as much as a tongue muscle, the pain was excruciating. The tape made a tearing, sticky sound. She felt it being unwound, the blood rushing into her feet, a thousand needles pricking like a swarm of yellow jackets from the swamp in Ohio.

“Get out. Walk.”

She slid down, her feet hit the ground, and she crumbled into a heap, crying in her throat, raw from the thirst and pain and hopelessness.

“Get up.” The fat man was angry.

“She can’t with the tape,” the driver said.

“Get her.”

Two hands went under her arms, lifted her, but she crumbled into a heap the same as before. The fat man snorted with impatience. Grabbing her, he threw her across his shoulder, the same way any man would pack a hundred-pound sack of feed or bag of potatoes. The blood rushed into her head as she bobbed along, being carried up one flight of stairs, then another. Doors opened and closed. It was warm. Something smelled good, very good, in fact. Like pine woods or the first of the wild flowers.

The fat man dumped her on a soft sofa or bed. She lay completely still. Somehow playing dead like a possum seemed safe.

“Unwind her hands. The duct tape.”

Again she heard the grinding sticky sound. Her hands fell into the bed, containing no strength of their own.

“We need to talk. We’re going to unwind the tape around your mouth. We will loosen the blindfold if you promise to stay. Any attempt at leaving will mean death. We are serious. You are of no consequence to us.”

Her head turned from side to side by the force of the tape being removed. It was all irrelevant. No matter. The pain was bearable. She’d be able to see, to swallow. Would they allow her a drink? She gagged when they removed the object in her mouth. But she recovered quickly, summoning her courage and resolving to remain strong.

When they removed the blindfold, she untied her heavy black bonnet with groping, numb fingers that felt as big as bananas and about as clumsy. She kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them. Where was she? Slowly, through shaking eyelids, her eyes focused, bringing the room into view.

At first she saw only beige walls, then the ornate molding in a darker shade. Slowly, as her eyes cleared, she saw that she was in a bedroom, sort of a guest bedroom. The carpeting was beige, as well as the bedspread, the curtains, and pillows. There was a red sofa, a glass coffee table, and red objects of art. Black lamps cast a yellowish light into the corners, and huge, navy blue, plaid pillows were strewn across the sofa in the glow of the lamps. Very pretty, she thought wryly.

“May I please be allowed a visit to the restroom?”

She tried to say this, but her voice was only a whisper, her vocal chords refusing to accommodate her. The fat man pointed to a door behind the bed. Slowly, carefully, Sadie set one foot on the carpeting, then the other. Clutching the side of the bed, she moved around it, bent over, wincing with the pain of the returning circulation.

She never knew a person could drink so much water. She cupped her hands beneath the gold faucet and drank and drank and drank. Water seeped between her fingers. She sucked at it greedily, hating to wait until her cupped hands were filled again so she could slurp at it like an animal dying of thirst.

It was only after her thirst was sated that she knew how hungry she was. She looked at the pink guest soaps in the white seashell dish and considered eating them. She had to have something to eat. They’d have to feed her. Allow her some kind of food. Did kidnappers starve their victims to death? Who knew?

Tentatively, she opened the door of the bathroom, hobbled out, still clinging to the side of the bed.

Immediately the fat man began. “You cooperate, you’re fine. If you act stubborn, you’re not. Got it?”

Sadie nodded, her eyes on the carpet.

“Where’s the palomino mare?”

“I don’t know.”

With the speed of lightning, his hammy fist smacked her mouth, snapping her head back. Sadie didn’t cry out. Tears came to her eyes, and blood spurted from a torn lip. She lifted the hem of her blue apron to sop up the flow.

“I told you. You work with us, you’re fine.”

The driver shifted uncomfortably, his gaze wavering, clearing his throat as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. From behind the apron, Sadie shook her head.

“They took her away.”

“Who?”

The fat man’s eyes bored into hers, a sick light of greediness shining.

“Four men came to my house. Was it a week ago? Something like that. They said I was in danger. So was Paris.”

“Who’s Paris?”

“The horse.”

“The palomino?”

Sadie nodded.“They said they were taking her to an undisclosed location.”

The two men looked at each other and nodded. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes. Why would I lie? I just want to go home. You can have the horse if you spare my life. I don’t want to die.”

“We ain’t killin’ anybody,” the driver burst out before the fat man held up a hand, giving him a scathing look.

“Looks as if you’re gonna be here awhile, young lady. We want the horse. At any cost. We figure we’ll get her if we use you to acquire her.”

At this, the fat man’s eyes glittered again. “There’s more ways than one to acquire our needs,” he chortled.

“All right,” Sadie said, not unpleasantly. “If you have to keep me here, am I allowed to know where I am? How long I have to stay? Will I be able to have some food? You’re not going to tie me again with that duct tape?”

The driver shook his head wildly behind the fat man’s back.

“You’re a long way from home. You’ll be staying until we can persuade them, whoever it is, to give us the palomino. We’ll feed you, and if you stay cooperative, we’ll keep you locked up in here, but no duct tape.

Sadie nodded. “Thank you. I am appreciative of this freedom. I won’t attempt an escape as long as I’m treated decently.”

“If the people hand over the palomino, you’re good to go.”

Sadie nodded again. She lifted her head then, “Am I alone in this house?”

“This is a big place. No, you’re not alone. This place is full of housekeepers, gardeners, cooks. It’s a big place,” he repeated.

So her imprisonment began. The digital clock read 11:09. The big red numbers against the black face were her only companion. There was no telephone, radio, or television. She went to the window, parted the heavy curtains, pulled on the cord that raised and lowered the blinds. Yes, as she thought, she was housed in a palatial home. Looking down from her third-story room, she saw there was no doubt about the immensity of the gardens, pastures, and the vast corrals and barns. It made Aspendale East seem quite ordinary.

 The snow was thinner here, with brown tufts of grass showing like eyebrows on an old man’s face. As far as the eye could see, there was only flat earth, a level landscape with rows of fences and trees creating a crisscross pattern that looked like one of Mam’s homemade comforters.

Sadie had no communication with the outside world, only the fat man or the driver appearing with trays of food at whatever hour they chose. Her first meal had consisted of cold cereal, milk, and an apple, blistering in its sourness on her raw tongue and throat. The cereal tasted heavenly, savoring each sweet, milky bite the way she did. Sometimes she fared well, eating good, hot, Mexican dishes. Other time she went to bed hungry, dreaming of Mam’s breakfasts.

She tried to keep her thoughts away from Mark. She always ended up sobbing into the pillow if she let her mind wander to him. She missed her family. She hoped Mam and Dat would be okay. She figured Reuben would waver between anger and indignation, between bluster and little-boy tears.

She paced the room, did sit-ups, stood at the window for hours on end. She was always thankful for good, hot baths, the ability to wash her clothes in the bathtub, to have clean towels, soap, and a good bed to sleep on. Her situation could have been so much worse.

She prayed for her rescue. She prayed the government agents would deliver Paris. She cried about Paris, too. But if it meant her life…

Had she been too
gros-feelich
(proud)? Didn’t the Bible say we reap what we sow? Had she sown pride and arrogance with her beautiful Paris? Why had God allowed this to happen? How long until this ordeal ended?

Then one day, when she felt as if she would surely lose her mind if she had nothing to do, she decided to houseclean the room. It would give her exercise, keep her occupied, simply save her wandering sanity. She shaved some of the pink soap into the vanity bowl, grabbed a heavy, white washcloth, dunked and swirled it in the soapy water, then wrung it out well.