Out of Darkness (6 page)

"Still, we should look," D said, his face lighting up in a relieved smile. "If she isn't dead, then we'll just drag her back and put her in the room again."

"Where she can finish up dying here instead of where we left her?" Mike didn't wait for a response. "We should find the money first. And go first thing in the morning, so there's some light. Otherwise one or the both of us may be joining her." Not to mention the rain, which had gotten heavier, beating against the roof and dripping through the holes in it down onto the floor

"If she's alive, we can't just leave her out there. It's not right," D said. His narrow face was damp, and he pinched at his forearm as though trying to wake himself.  "I didn't sign on to actually kill anyone. We're just supposed to watch the door."

"And if the parents or boyfriend didn't pay up, what do you think would happen to her then?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Today," Mike took a breath as he remembered Sofia, the body, crumpled against that tree. "But it wasn't my fault. She's the one that ran."

D clapped a hand on Mike's bicep. "Don't worry man, she could be alive. Let's just go look for her, and bring her back here okay?"

"Fine." Tramping out into the woods in the rain to bury a body was not how Mike had planned to spend his evening. But now he wondered. What if she was alive? What would his grandmother say if he left her out there in the rain? Truthfully, his grandmother would have approved of few of his activities. Then again, she hadn't approved of any of his girlfriends either, even the ones who hadn't been strippers.

A ferocious crack of thunder sounded above. Then the sky outside the window lit to white, and the television shut off. Outside, the rain fell even more strongly.

"But not now," Mike added. "No point in having three bodies up in these woods."

"Three bodies?" D said. "Bet there's already more than three bodies out there now." But he didn't argue. Together, as one, they searched the house by flashlight to find the tin of dollar bills that Carl had hidden in a loose floorboard under the sofa. It took almost until dawn for the rain to slow. Mike and Carl shared a tin of beans and then, shovel in hand, trekked on up the hill.

The girl was gone.

"This is good, isn't it?" D asked, clapping Mike just above the small of his back. "You didn't kill her. You must be so glad!"

"Oh, yes," Mike said, his teeth grit. "That's a load off the mind. Now all we have to do is find out where she went and get her back before she tells the cops what happened. Not to mention when Carl finds out. It's much better this way."

In the corner of Mike's vision, D nodded. Mike had a few ideas of what he might have done in his life to deserve this, what he couldn't figure was how D had managed to live this long without developing any sense for sarcasm at all.

Seeing that Samuel had decided to stop disgracing himself by imposing familiarity upon this stranger in the eyes of the Lord, and that he had put the Englischer woman safely into Annie's arms, Abram went back to the buggy to retrieve the tattered clothes Sofia  had been wearing when she stumbled onto his doorstep, mere hours ago. It was settled then. Sofia would return to her people, and Abram to his home. Had there been any other outcome?

In truth, Abram had no reason to stay any longer. Annie would see that his wife's clothes were returned to him, at some point. It wasn't as though Rebekah needed them any longer. Truthfully, he should offer them to the community at the next Church meeting. Rebekah wouldn't appreciate his hoarding her things. It was wasteful and Rebekah had abhorred waste. Yes, once he had returned the Englischer  woman's clothes, it would make the most sense for him to be on his way before dark. Not that he feared the roads in the dark any more than he would in the day. But tomorrow morning he had to wake early to take his furniture to the auction. There would be many Englischer and Amish customers who might buy the set of four chairs he had finished yesterday.

When he returned, Sofia was sitting at the edge of the group who had gathered for the singing circle. Samuel had taken a seat next to her, his friend on his opposite side. The boys had yet to take their vows to the Church and marry, and as such they were all clean-shaven, even Samuel, thought at a week before his 24th birthday, he was past time to have decided whether he would marry and join the church or leave the community forever. Though Abram would never speak his thoughts on the subject out-loud, he found Samuel's waiting to be a sign of frivolity rather than thoughtfulness. With a foot in each world, he enjoyed the best of both, and he was far too handsome by half.

Shocked at the rancor of his thoughts, Abram closed his eyes briefly and prayed,
Dear Lord, protect me from the sin of envy, that I might better serve you and my fellow man.
Taking a calming breath through his nose, he started towards Sofia. He should bid her farewell. It was the least he could do. And tell her not to worry for the clothing. Rebekah, in the grace and beauty of heaven, would certainly understand.

The youths were already singing in the main living room. It was large enough to seat the twenty youths who were seated on the sofas and wooden stools that had been brought out for the occasion. Singing circles at the Millers were more spontaneous than most, Abram remembered. Sometimes the youths would sing for fifteen or twenty minutes at a stretch, one starting a song immediately where the others left off, punctuated by laughter, jokes and applause. Other times, as much as a quarter hour could pass between songs as the youths socialized, formed community bonds, and preferably settled on someone as a mate. After an hour or so, Annie and the other women would come in with large trays of food: sweet breads, sliced tomatoes, potato salad, and moon pies for the young men and women to devour, calling an official end to the singing. Most were homeward bound soon thereafter, though Annie usually ended up opening her guest rooms for a smattering that were too far flung or too tired to take the long journey home.

Sofia had been given a place of honor on one of the sofas, sharing with one of Annie's oldest daughters, a sixteen year old named Miriam. Samuel had pulled up a stool on Sofia's other side, just far enough away to stay in the bounds of propriety. Barely. He sang quietly, his attention clearly split between the proceedings and the pretty Englischer girl.

They made a good couple even with her falsely colored hair. Abram suspected Sofia was in her early twenties, though her Englischer style of personal grooming made her appear subtly older. Or maybe it was the wariness with which she sat, sharing only hesitant smiles with Samuel, her hands folded tightly in her lap and ankles crossed. Her face lit when she saw Abram however, and she gave him a bright smile as she waved him over. A feeling of lightness came over Abram as he walked towards the Englischer girl. She trusted him. He had barely crossed the room before he began to chastise himself for taking such pride in this simple gesture. Of course the Englischer girl trusted him. She had known him the longest of any of them.

He took up an empty stool, pulled it to Samuel's other side and waited for the hymn to finish. Samuel sang softly, and a bit off key, which sent a stab of venomous joy through Abram. What was wrong with him? His sister had said grief too long held would fester, and perhaps it had. Abram joined his voice, a strong baritone, in with the others. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance or impetus to sing, but though his voice was rusty, he sang the notes true.

On his rumspringa, Abram had sung with a local band, and though putting ones self forward to raise oneself above others was a sin under the Ordnung, he'd loved being on the stage, drawing joy and excitement from the listeners below as they jumped, danced, and applauded at his efforts. That high had been stronger than the drugs other members of the band had taken, a chaotic lifestyle which had lead to constant infighting in the band and its eventual implosion. The high of performing had been second only to the joy of holding his wife, her belly fluttering against his palm as the baby kicked. At that time, he felt God's voice in the whisper the wind over the cornfields, in Rebekah's warm smile and her soft breathing, her feet woven between his as they slept.

There was a smattering of applause and then the low murmur of conversation while people decided what to sing next. "That was lovely," Sofia said, when Abram sat beside her. She leaned a towards him. The shortness of the stool meant she didn't have to look up to meet his eyes.  "What language is that? German?"

"You have a good ear," Abram said. "Most people would have assumed Dutch, I suppose because the Englischers have named Lancaster Pennsylvania Dutch Country for the tourists."

"Thank you," Sofia pushed a stray hair back behind her ear. "You're all so kind. I hope I can pay you back someday for all the help you've given me."

"Helping your fellow man is (proscribed) in the Ordnung and a tenant of the Bible as well. There's no need to thank us."

"Yes, Abram is the picture of a proper Amish man," Samuel cut in. "He's to be admired." Samuel's words and expression seemed kindly meant, but something in the steadiness of his gaze made Abram doubt his sincerity. Foolish man, Abram chastised himself again. Abram was acting like a smeeli himself, a youth just turned sixteen instead of a man. How could Abram allow himself to become jealous of a child's flirtations with a stranger who was leaving them in less than a quarter hour? Samuel couldn't help his good looks and facile way of speaking anymore than Abram could the power and range of his voice. A man was given talents to use for the glory of God. So long as he did not use those talents to place himself above his fellow man, or succumb to the mirror sins of pride and envy, only good could come of it. Abram needed deeper prayer, perhaps a conversation with the (Bishop) about this corruption that threatened to make inroads on his soul.

"No matter how we try, labor, it is easy to fall from grace," Abram said seriously. "So, have you settled on a particular woman to court?"

"I don't want to get ahead of myself," Samuel said. "I have prayed long and hard, but the Lord has not yet seen fit to let His will be known to me. Or perhaps I don't yet know how to properly listen. How did you know?"

"Excuse me?" Abram's immediate reaction was white hot anger, immediately quelled in shame. He had been drawn to Rebekah from their first conversation, him in Philadelphia for his band, and her at the Reading Terminal market selling baked goods. Though they'd both been born and raised in Lancaster, she'd been clear on the other side of the district, and if their paths had crossed prior to that meeting, it had made no impression on either of them. She had been only seventeen, him twenty two, and they'd been baptized and married a year later. He often questioned the speed of their courtship, if it would not have been better for her to have had a better taste of the world, not that she'd wanted it. Rebekah had been content with their farm and their life. So had he, until the end.

Sofia laid a soft hand on his. "Are you okay? You don't have to answer. It can't be easy for you."

"I knew from our second conversation, and suspected from our first. At that time, God whispered so easily in my life."

A knock sounded at the front door. It could only be the police officer, Abram thought, here to take Sofia away. "Don't worry about the clothes," Abram said. "Take them as a gift to remember your time here."

"Thank you," Sofia said, her voice thick.

Ruth stood and ran to the door. "One moment!"

The angle of the room to the hall meant that even as close to the room's entrance as Abram was, he could only catch a partial outline of the officer's frame. He could hear well enough, as the ambient conversation in the room silenced, all listening while pretending they weren't actively eavesdropping  as Ruth greeted the officer. The officer had a distinctive accent, as though he'd lived in a different part of the country before coming to Pennsylvania.

Sofia's grip on Abram's hand tightened, squeezing painfully.

When Abram turned his attention to her, Sofia's face had lost all color, and she was hunched over herself protectively. Abram whispered, "What's wrong?"

Sofia was shaking, her entire body; never had Abram seen someone so afraid.

Ruth yelled, "Officer Maglioine says he's here for the Englischer. Where is she?"

"No. Please no," Sofia whispered.

"Take Sofia through the back hall to the kitchen and out the back. She can stay at your place for the time being." Abram ordered Samuel, dislodging her hand and placing it in Samuel's. The words came without thought, as though given directly from the mouth of God. Samuel nodded, and lead Sofia from the room.

Abram walked to the door to confront the police officer, hopeful that the Lord would continue to guide his steps, that he might say the right thing to keep Sofia safe. Whatever had happened to her was brutal enough to leave her bruised in flesh and hollowed in spirit, and her fears, whether rational or not, deserved proper consideration.

Officer Maglione was whipcord thin with stringy light brown hair that brushed the top of his ears. He wore a badge, and a billy club and holstered gun hung from the belt at his hip. His walkies-talkie was silent, possibly turned off out of respect for Amish custom. He looked up as Abram approached, his eyes at first shining with the same anticipation of a cat stalking a mouse before blinking, a flash of confusion crossing his features, "Where's the girl?" he asked, looking over Abram with narrowed eyes.