Love Redeemed (9 page)

He had to fix it. Make it right. He had to find Lydia. He would never make such a mistake again.
Gott, please don't let Lydia pay for my mistake. Don't let Phoebe pay for my mistake.

He longed for a drink of cool water. Sweat made his shirt heavy against his back and chest. It stuck to him and chafed his neck. The sun burned his face until it hurt. His chapped lips cracked and bled.

“Michael? Michael!”

The shout came from deep in a stand of oaks and spruce. A second voice joined in. “Michael!”

Against his better judgment, he stopped. If he stopped now, he might have to drop to the ground, curl up, and close his eyes. He stood, wavering, the sun to his back, eyes half closed.

Elam, Simon, and Martin Christner emerged from the trees. Like triplets in varying heights, each a little younger than the next replica of Silas. Only the oldest brother, Jesse, was missing. For that, Michael could be grateful. These three didn't look pleased to see him. “So that's where you went.” Simon stuck his hand above his eyes to shield them from the glare. “It's not enough we're out here looking for Lydia, but it looked like you'd gotten yourself lost too.”

He didn't say it but the implication hung in the air. Not enough that he'd caused Lydia's disappearance. “I'm looking for Lydia.” He didn't recognize his own voice. It sounded bruised and distorted. “I've been all the way to the next swimming beach.”

“Nothing?” Elam glanced beyond Michael as if he couldn't help himself, hoping against hope. “You didn't see anything?”

Michael would've given both arms to be able to say yes. “Nee. Nothing.”

“The park ranger says there's almost three hundred miles of shoreline.” Elam's voice broke. “How are we going to cover that kind of ground?”

“Lydia's legs are short. She couldn't have gone that far. We'll find her. You should go back.” Despite Simon's tense, jerky tone, he held out a water bottle. “Have a drink of water. You look like you could use one. Then get back. Your daed's looking for you.”

Michael took the water and drank. His thirst made it impossible for him to sip. He gulped, water running in rivulets down his face and neck into his shirt. He lowered the bottle and gasped. He wouldn't go running back to the camp. He would keep looking until he found her.

The two older men, only two and three years older than Michael, had identical looks on their face. They tried to mask it, but the grim set of their mouths and the lines between their eyes, the wrinkles across their foreheads—like younger versions of Phoebe's daed—made it obvious. They knew. They knew about Phoebe and him and what they'd being doing when Lydia slipped away from the camp. Elam simply looked baffled. At fourteen, he was still a little too young to understand.

“I'm sorry.” Michael knew it sounded inadequate. “About this.”

“Do you have something to be sorry for?” Simon wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms over his thick chest. “Something you want to say?”

“Nee.” No, not to them. It wouldn't be to these three.

Martin kicked at a rock with a filthy boot. “Our daed knows what happened.”

“Hannah told him?”

“Hannah's stopped talking.” The thin veneer of politeness wore away. “Seems like she might not talk again. Not for a while. The doctor says that happens sometimes when a person is traumatized. It was Phoebe. She told Mudder and Daed.”

Doctor. Was someone hurt? Phoebe? “Why a doctor?”

“The search and rescue team brings out an ambulance with…not a doctor…what they call a paramedic.”

Gut.
That was
gut.
Phoebe was okay. As okay as she could be, under the circumstances. Did she blame him? Had she told the whole story?

“What were you doing at our campsite?” Simon posed the question.

He pulled himself to his full height and breathed. Nothing less than the truth. That's what his daed always said. “I asked Phoebe to take a walk with me. I wanted to talk to her.”

Martin's hands fisted. “We'd better get back to the camp.”

Simon nodded. “It's gonna be dark soon.”

They could be twins, the way they finished each other's thoughts and sentences.

“Maybe they've found her,” Michael offered. “Maybe she'll be there when we get back to the campsite.”

“Nee.” Simon shook his head as he started along the rocky path, his
back to Michael. “The Corps has boats in the water. Other campers have volunteered to go out in their boats too. They'd sound the bullhorns if she'd been found. That's what they told us.”

“Plus they gave us radios.” Martin held one up. “So no one else gets lost. Luke wasn't happy about it. He said only to use it in case of emergency. Like phones. Like this isn't an emergency?”

“They're battery-operated,” Michael agreed. “What's the problem with that?'”

“Luke's the bishop.” Simon kept walking. “He's responsible.”

Michael held back a few seconds, letting the distance between him and Phoebe's brothers lengthen. He didn't want to walk into camp with them. Everyone's gazes on them, thinking, hoping, praying.

He wanted to be able to shout it out. That he'd found her. He'd been responsible for losing her, but now he'd found her. He'd be forgiven and their vacation would go on. They'd fish and hunt and make mountain pies over the fire.

But he hadn't. He hadn't seen or heard one single thing that would bring them closer to a little girl in a purple dress.

He forced himself on.
You're not a coward. Go.

His gut churned in anticipation of what he would face. Silas. Katie. Phoebe.

Ach
, Phoebe.

Mudder and Daed. They would be so ashamed. He swallowed against the bitter bile that rose in his throat.

His fault. All his fault. They couldn't blame Phoebe for this. He insisted she come with him. She would never have done it otherwise. He had to tell them that.

They would forgive him. Like Phoebe's brothers had? It was hard to tell. They hadn't said as much. Neither had they expressed blame. Not in so many words.
What were you doing at the camp?

Nothing they hadn't done with their own girls. The girls who were now their fraas.

Only their courting hadn't ended with a little girl lost.

His throat hurt with the effort to stymie the emotions that broke
like waves over him. If anything happened to that little girl, he would never forgive himself.

He picked up one foot and put it down, placed one foot in front of the other, just as he'd been doing since Hannah's headlong flight into the woods to tell them Lydia had gone missing while he wooed her sister. What had he been thinking? What was the big rush? Why did everything about Phoebe make him want to run headlong into the future with her?

Whirling lights caught the periphery of his gaze. He looked up. Red and blue lights cast crazy patterns against the trees and the water near the campground ahead. A dozen or more cars and trucks now lined the dirt road that led to the isolated spot where the Christners had pitched their cluster of tents. Police cars? Sheriff? Park rangers? Ambulances? Simon had said the Corps. The Army Corps of Engineers. They took care of the lake, the part that wasn't state park. They would be in charge of the search. They had experience. They knew what to do. A vise tightened around his head and a noose around his throat. Lydia hadn't wandered back into camp, safe and sound.

They were still searching.

Cramps tightened in his gut. He lurched to a stop, leaned over, and breathed. In and out. In and out. Elam, Simon, and Martin didn't look back.

Gott, forgive me. Give me the strength to face the consequences. I deserve whatever You dole out. I'll take whatever You give me. Please bring Lydia home.

He straightened and strode forward into the camp. Lights streamed from a dozen lanterns scattered around on the picnic tables. A man in brown pants and a matching shirt talked to a cluster of men, including Silas, Thomas, Ben, and his daed. Daed saw him approach first. He broke away from the others and strode toward Michael. He grabbed his arm in a tight, painful grip and stopped him short of the circle.

“Where have you been?” The steel in his father's voice bit into his skin. “Isn't one lost child enough?”

“I'm neither lost nor a child.” He kept his own voice soft, low. Daed
had every right to be angry. He didn't raise his voice—it wasn't his way—but the lines in his face shouted. “I've covered all the ground along the shore up to the next swimming cove.”

“Tobias, Mr. Dover wants a word with us.” Silas's voice was even. “He's waiting.”

His father's hand dropped and he turned his back on Michael. Michael saw nothing in Silas's face except fierce concentration. “Silas, I—”

“Quiet, son,” Tobias said, moving to stand next to Silas. “Mr. Dover is from the Army Corps of Engineers. They're coordinating search and rescue with the state park folks and the sheriff's department from the county.”

The man stuffed big hands into his pants pockets. “We have to suspend the search for the night. We've covered all the ground closest to these campsites. We'll continue with a grid search further into the surrounding woods as soon as it gets light.”

“We will continue to look.” Silas's voice was respectful but firm. He cleared his throat. “I don't want to leave my daughter out there overnight…alone.”

Thomas shook his head, one hand smoothing his beard. “Silas, Mr. Dover is right. We can't go stumbling around in the dark. Someone is bound to get hurt or lost.”

“Lydia could be hurt.” Silas stopped. The only signs of his distress were the pulse beating in his temple and his gritted jaw. He swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed above the collar of his blue shirt. He glanced around as if looking for something or someone. His gaze met Michael's and then bounced away. “There's wildlife out there. Bears. Cougars. She's four years old.”

“She's a smart girl, Daed.” Simon slipped in between Thomas and the park ranger, Martin and Elam crowding behind him. “If any little girl can survive the night out there, she can.”

“What we can do now is pray,” Luke said. “We'll start out again at daybreak.”

“You have to keep looking.”

The high, tight voice came from behind Michael. He swiveled. The
women were huddled together near the playground, some standing, some sitting on blankets, babies sleeping against their chests or at their feet. Several, including his mudder and his aenti, looked as if they were praying, hands clasped tightly in their hands, heads bowed. Katie had spoken. She took two tottering steps. “You're thinking we'll all go to bed and sleep? While my baby's out there in the dark?”

“Fraa.” Silas broke away from the group. He strode past Michael without looking at him and took his wife's arm. “Come into the tent.”

“You have to keep looking.” She glanced around as if embarrassed at all the faces watching them. She bent her head and leaned into her husband. “I can't bear it.”

She whispered the words but Michael heard every syllable—and the terrible fear in each one.

“We'll find her tomorrow.” Silas leaned close to her. He put his arm around her shoulders. “She's in Gott's hands. What happens now is up to Him.” His rough, hoarse voice turned to a soft whisper. “Come.”

Without looking at the others, he led Katie toward the last tent, guiding her as he would a blind woman. As they passed Michael, she looked up at him. Her gaze clouded, but she didn't speak. She nodded and allowed Silas to pull her along.

Michael couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand Silas's sagging frame and Katie's tottering shuffle. He'd done this to them. “I'm sorry.” He blurted the words, not thinking. “I'm sorry.”

Silas halted. Without letting go of Katie, he turned back. “Your apology is accepted. We forgive you.”

Katie nodded her head, up and down, but the tears that spilled down her lined cheeks told another story.

Michael's throat closed as they slipped into their tent, alone with their distress and fear and uncertainty. All caused by him. He had done this. He would accept the consequences, come what may.

“Michael.”

He forced himself to look up at the small whisper. It came from the shadows on the other side of the playground. It didn't matter how soft or how far, he would've heard it and recognized it.

Phoebe.

He strode toward the sound of his name.

“Phoebe, I'm so sorry.”

She seemed to fold into herself, tiny and scared. She sat cross-legged on the grass. “We did this.”

“I know.”

She gazed up at him. “If she doesn't come home…”

“I know.” He dropped to his knees and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Her expression horrified, she shrank from his touch. “Don't.”

“It's not your fault.”

“While you were…kissing me, Lydia was…”

“We didn't know.”

“We should've known.”

“Tomorrow we'll find her and we'll bring her home. I'll do everything I can to bring her home. I promise. It'll be fine,” Michael said.

The words must've sounded as empty and hollow to her as they did to him.

She scooted back beyond his reach. “Nothing will ever be fine again.”