Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio (23 page)

“They aren’t bad. They’re just doing their job.” Joe lifted his son onto his lap and wiped away the tears that streaked down his little cheeks.

He hated Rachel for what she’d done to them.

Outside Bobby’s bedroom, he noticed a flashing colored light falling faintly on the hallway wall. He went to investigate. In the living room, blue-and-white flashing lights filtered through the new blinds he had installed.

He lifted one of the slats a fraction of an inch and quickly inhaled. Rachel had pulled her squad car directly onto his front lawn, parallel to the porch, blocking access to his house. She had changed into her uniform and was standing in front of the driver’s door—her feet planted wide and a shotgun held loosely at her side. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but even from where he was watching, it was obvious that she had drawn an imaginary line in front of his house and was daring anyone to cross over it.

His heart turned over at the sight of her. She’d said she had his back. Now she was guarding his house. Could he have been wrong in accusing her of alerting them?

The reporters were slowly backing off the lawn, but they stopped at the aunts’ property line. They still lined the road.

He didn’t know who had called the media, but it hit him with full force that Rachel couldn’t possibly have done so. It simply was not in her. The woman was no liar. If she said she had told no one—he knew she told the truth.

And he had shoved her out the door.

And she had come back to try to protect him anyway.

His heart ached with the sight of her, so valiant, so ready to do battle.

Except there was little she could do. He had dealt with publicity most of his adult life. The newspeople would never give up—not as long as there was a story. The fact that he had been able to slip away from them once had been nothing less than a miracle.

At that moment, he heard a knock at the back door. Probably another reporter—one who had been willing to make his way through the tangle of the aunts’ rose garden. He opened the door a crack and was shocked to see Eli standing there with clothes draped over his arm.

“You are having druvvel—trouble—again?”

Joe pulled the old man inside. “Just a little.”

“It is best you leave now, Rachel says.” Eli shoved the clothing into his hands. “Today you become an Amishman—for a while.”

Joe was dumbfounded. “I do?”

“Put these on. Both you and the boy. The hats too. We have much to do. Our Rachel has a plan.”

Rachel’s plan, whatever it was,
had
to be better than trying to shove his way out to the truck.

Eli watched out the blinds at the front window as Joe stripped and jerked on the Amish clothes. His fingers fumbled with the buttoned flap in front. Bobby, after being dressed in some of Eli’s grandson’s clothing, became fascinated with the image of himself in the mirror.

Eli looked Joe up and down and grinned. “My son’s clothes are too short for you, but we have to fool those Englischers out there only for a little bit.”

“What are we going to do?”

Eli peeked out at his horse and buggy. “We go to my house now.”

“They’ll see us.”

“They will see two Amishmen who came for the work frolic and are disappointed that it was cancelled by the presence of rude Englisch reporters. Bobby, you will get behind the seat and hide like a good boy. Joe, put whatever bags you have in the back of the buggy with him. I will keep the flaps down so they will see little.”

Joe positioned Bobby in the back and climbed in. With Rachel arguing with reporters and providing a distraction, Eli drove the buggy out from behind the house.

“Keep your head down, Bobby,” Eli commanded. “Joe, hold the hat over your face.”

Reporters tried to block the buggy.

“Out of my way! Go home! Go home!” Eli shouted.
“Ich huf seliau camera fleght zu schtickau!”

It was the most Pennsylvania Dutch Joe had ever heard Eli speak. He had no idea what the old man had said, but the string of guttural German didn’t sound at all like the gentle Amishman Joe thought he knew.

Even though they backed away, the reporters did try to snap pictures. Following Eli’s cue, Joe covered his face with his hat—a frequent Amish response to the despised photographs—as they trotted down the road and toward the sanctuary of Eli’s farm.

When they had gone a safe distance, Joe turned around. To his relief, he saw that they had not been followed. The reporters were still mistakenly back at the daadi haus, exchanging heated words with Rachel.

“What in the world did you say to them back there?” Joe asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Eli said. “I am ashamed. I lost control of my tongue.”

“Was that cursing?”

“I did not curse, but I
did
tell them that I hoped their cameras would fly to pieces.” Eli hung his head. “I considered mentioning the similarity between their faces and my billy goat’s, but I restrained myself. It was a great temptation.”

Joe roared with laughter and threw an arm around the old man’s shoulders.

Eli looked stunned. He scooted to the far edge of his seat, putting as much space between himself and Joe as possible—apparently fearful that Joe might be overcome with an overwhelming Englisch need to hug.

As Eli brought the buggy to a stop in his own backyard, a silver blue Mustang pulled up. Rachel’s car.

For a moment, Joe’s heart leaped. He would get a chance to apologize. Then he realized that Rachel was still back at the daadi haus. A tall young woman with auburn hair, dressed in the uniform of a Sugarcreek cop, unfolded herself from the low-slung vehicle.

“My name is Kim Whitfield.” She held out her hand. “I work with Rachel. You must be Joe.”

“I am.”

“Sorry about all that’s happened today. Rachel asked me to pack her car for you. There’s an untraceable cell phone and a car seat for Bobby. There’s also enough money in the glove compartment to rent a room for a few nights. She advises you to go now, while she has the reporters distracted. Here are the keys. If you don’t mind me saying so, there’s a limit on how long they’ll be content to take pictures of her. You’d better take off.”

Wordlessly, Joe grabbed their duffel bag out of the buggy and threw it onto the Mustang’s floor. As he buckled Bobby into the child’s booster seat Rachel had never removed, Kim made one more comment.

“Rachel said to tell you it was Stephanie who called the press. The girl figured it out from some old magazines Rachel had in her closet that had you on the front cover. She said she’d appreciate it if you’d try to forgive her for being so stupid as to leave them there with a nosy teenager around.”

“Tell her thanks, and I’ll call her later.”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” Kim said.

Joe handed the two hats back to Eli. “I’ll get your son’s clothes back to you as soon as I can,” he said.

“There is no hurry. We Amish do not lack for handmade clothing and hats.” Eli smiled. “May Gott go with you, my friend.”

“And with you, Eli.”

With everything in him, he hoped this would not be the last time he ever saw the old man.

“Drive the speed limit and be careful,” Kim reminded him. “Remember, you still don’t have a driver’s license. We don’t want you to get picked up.”

“I’ll be careful,” Joe said.

As he drove away, he found himself newly amazed at Rachel. Instead of dissolving into tears because of his angry words, as Grace would have done, she had quickly and efficiently gone into action to extricate him and his son from a bad situation.

His first impression of Rachel had been an accurate one. Rachel was indeed a fighter. The question he had to ask himself was—with a woman like that by his side, why in the world was he running?

“Thanks, Aaron.” Joe set his duffel bag on the floor and looked around at the hunting cabin. “This is…great.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, an action Joe remembered from college as a barometer of Aaron’s nervousness.

Who
wouldn’t
be nervous, with him and Bobby showing up out of the blue and asking for sanctuary?

His old college roommate had not inquired about, and Joe had been too tired to explain, the unusual clothing he and Bobby were wearing. That was typical of Aaron. He accepted everyone without question exactly as they were. Whether that was from compassion or disinterest, Joe had never decided. He supposed Aaron figured that if Joe felt the need to dress like an Amishman, there must be a reasonable explanation.

They had been close friends at one time, and college roommates for two years. Aaron had taken his Bible classes seriously.

Joe had not.

Aaron had tried to keep in touch, even after Joe’s star on the pro baseball circuit had begun to rise.

Joe had not.

At the time, he’d had more exciting friends to hang out with than earnest old Aaron, who was stuck in West Virginia trying to eke out a living from a little gospel bookstore.

Aaron had contacted him directly after Grace’s death, when the storm of public intrusion had been at its peak, and had once again offered Joe the use of the empty hunting cabin he had inherited from his grandfather, along with a solemn promise of privacy.

It was all that Aaron had to give, and he offered it freely.

Deep down, Joe realized he had been slowly working his way to Aaron ever since they’d left LA. His old nerdy friend and Aaron’s wife, Deborah, were Christians down to the marrow of their bones. Because of this, Joe felt he could trust them.

Aaron’s nervousness now took the form of taking his glasses off and polishing them furiously. “If I’d had any idea you were coming, I would have gotten it in better shape.” He shoved the glasses back onto his nose.

“It’s fine—just the way it is.”

With cobwebs on the ceiling, mice droppings on the floor, and an abandoned bird’s nest in the corner.

With nostalgia, Joe thought back to the clean, orderly daadi haus in which he had awakened with such hope only this morning.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and help you get it in better shape,” Aaron promised.

“Really, Aaron, it’s fine.” Joe tried to keep the exhaustion from his voice, but he was dead on his feet. “The only other thing I need from you is a promise that you won’t tell anyone we’re here.”

“We won’t.” Aaron blinked a couple of times. “But wouldn’t Bobby rather sleep at our house tonight? There’s an extra cot in our little boy’s room.”

Bobby had cried half of the way here.

“I doubt he would be willing to do that,” Joe said. “But thanks for asking.”

“It can get pretty cold up here in October.” Aaron rubbed his arms. “If you need it, there’s wood stacked outside, some kindling in the box beside the fireplace, and dry matches in that jar on the mantelpiece.”

As much as Joe appreciated what his friend was doing for him, feeling like a refugee was even more infuriating after experiencing the respite of the daadi haus and his small circle of Sugarcreek friends. He didn’t want to be here.

He was running. Again.

He hated it.

He despised what fame had stolen from him and his family. It had come upon him one ball game at a time, one fan at a time. He hadn’t awakened one morning suddenly being unable to shop for his own groceries without being accosted for autographs. Fame had grown slowly, the inconveniences offset by the riches he thought he had wanted.

Regaining his anonymity for these past few months had convinced him that the price fame had exacted wasn’t worth it. Life as a regular guy was sweet in Sugarcreek. Having tasted that sweetness, all he really wanted now was the freedom to live in that small town, where a handful of people truly cared about him.
Him
—not the legend.

He had fantasized about coaching Bobby’s little league team someday and having pizza with the other dads. He wanted to be able to go to a parent-teacher conference and have a teacher feel free to scold him, if necessary, over his child’s behavior. He wanted to go to church and help pass communion without people whispering about him and pointing as he did so.

He wanted to be able to open the door to the daadi haus without microphones and cameras being shoved into his and Bobby’s faces.

And he wanted Rachel. Loyal, beautiful Rachel, who had helped him even after he accused her of lying and told her to get out of his life. He had only known her a few weeks, and yet being near her had already become necessary to his happiness.

He needed Aaron to leave now so he could sort it all out. There were decisions he needed to make about his future that would take time and stillness—and most of all, prayer. His father’s weapon of choice.

“I’m really tired, Aaron,” he said. “Can we talk in the morning?”

Aaron’s troubled eyes filled with compassion. “I’ll bring breakfast. There are plenty of clean blankets and sheets in a plastic box in the closet. We keep them there so the mice can’t get into them.”

“Thanks.”

He closed and locked the door after his friend left and pulled Rachel’s phone out of his pocket along with his own. He needed to call her and let her know he was okay.

But there were no bars on either phone. They were too far into the boonies to get a signal. No landline, either. He wouldn’t be able to call her tonight.

It was astonishing how much that saddened him.

Bobby was huddled in the corner of an old couch. “I don’t like it here, Daddy.”

“Me either, son.”

“Can we go back home now? I miss my kitty.”

“It’s late, buddy. Let’s get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

Bobby stuck his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, “Can I thweep w’ you?”

It felt like being hit in the stomach with a baseball bat, watching Bobby suck his thumb and revert to baby talk again. He had been so proud of the fact that his child finally felt secure enough to sleep in his own little room at the daadi haus.

Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, made Joe’s limbs feel heavy. He was so tired of trying to protect his traumatized little boy and failing. He was so tired of trying to make decisions and finding out he’d been dead wrong.

“Yes, son.” He sighed. “You can sleep with me.”

Dear Rachel,

My amnesia is gone! I called my grandparents, and they came to get me. They said my cousin and her husband want to adopt my baby. My cousin can’t have babies of her own, so I guess this will be a really nice Christmas present for them and I can still see my little girl whenever I want to. I can’t wait to go back to school. I didn’t think I would miss it, but I do. I want to graduate from high school. I’m thinking about becoming a cop when I grow up, just like you did.

Love,
Stephanie Anne Fowler
P.S. Please don’t be mad at me.

“Her grandparents came for her?” Rachel laid the letter on the counter at the police station.

“They came in when she brought the letter, and I met them,” Ed said. “Nice people. Worried about their granddaughter. They said to give you their thanks.”

She smoothed a hand over the letter. It had been written on flowery stationary that Rachel had forgotten she possessed. The girl had also somehow managed to find a florid purple felt-tip with which to write. Typical. She wondered how many of her drawers Stephanie had dug through in order to come up with writing materials that fit her fifteen-year-old tastes.

In spite of the round, childish scrawl, Rachel was impressed with Stephanie’s literacy. There was not one misspelling. The girl would do well in school. That thought gave her comfort.

She traced her finger over the lines of the letter. “Stephanie dots her
i
’s with little hearts.”

“She’s a kid,” Kim said. “Probably still believes in the tooth fairy.”

“She certainly believed the fairy tale that ‘Mack’ told her,” Ed said with disgust.

“Have you given up on finding him?”

“We have no real name, no make of car, no license number, no fingerprints, no destination—and Stephanie probably wouldn’t testify against him even if we did manage to find him. There are a million guys out there just like Mack.”

Kim picked up the letter and studied it. “I think it’s interesting that she included her whole name.”

“Why?”

“Unless I miss my guess, that little girl is hoping you’ll find her. With all the information we have, it shouldn’t take long.”

“I might do that when I get over being ‘mad’ at her for selling out Joe. I have a feeling Stephanie might be an interesting person to know in a few years.”

“You probably helped her more than you know.”

“I hope so.”

During the past few hours, Rachel had seen a side of Kim she had never expected. The volunteer had been an enormous help with getting Joe out of town. It occurred to her that Kim would make a fine police officer for their town someday—if and when there were any openings.

“Thanks for helping out today, Kim. I owe you one. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“Well,” Kim said wistfully, “I’ve kind of been wondering. Do you suppose your aunt Lydia might ask me to come around for dinner sometime? I don’t have any relatives around here and—”

“I’m sure of it,” Rachel said. “But I’m giving you fair warning: bring some cash. There’s this orphanage in Haiti that my aunts are involved with, and Lydia’s cooking doesn’t come cheap these days….”

“They’re like two peas in a pod,” Aaron said, watching Bobby and his son Davey build a tower out of Lincoln Logs. “I shouldn’t be surprised, with only a month’s difference in their ages.”

“You’d almost think they were twins, except for the difference in hair coloring.” Joe was enjoying the sight of his son so absorbed in play that Bobby seemed to be unaware that his dad was even in the room.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do?” Aaron asked.

“I have an idea,” Joe said. “I don’t know if it will work.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been thinking about something that Bertha, the old Amish lady I was telling you about, said. She told me that the way they deal with curious tourists is to simply go about their daily business. She says that when the tourists have looked their fill and asked all their questions, they lose interest. And visitors to Amish Country soon discover that the Plain people aren’t so different after all.”

“And you think that will work—for you?”

“It’s the only thing I have left. It’s either go completely public or live in some gated community for the rest of my life. Bobby deserves a normal childhood. I want to give it to him if I can. I think that childhood could happen in Sugarcreek.”

“How can I help you, brother?” Aaron’s eyes were filled with compassion.

“I need to go back and deal with things.”

“Would you like us to keep Bobby while you do?”

“I don’t think he would stay.”

Aaron watched the boys play a few more moments. “Ask him.”