Where Grace Abides (15 page)

“I know how unlikely it seems, but nothing else makes any sense. If she'd been injured on the way home, someone would have found her by now. I don't know what else to think.”

They started over the bridge, and not for the first time, David felt a vague uneasiness about using it. He had to wonder just how stable the rickety old wooden structure really was. Apparently it had been here forever, even long before the mill had even been built. One could almost feel it swaying in the slightest wind, and every creak and groan caused David to hold his breath.

Once across he headed to the mill house. The place had been unused and abandoned for well over two years now, after Haden Rider left to build a new mill upriver. He'd never been able to sell the place because of the unpredictable and frequent flooding, not to mention the outrageous price he'd placed upon it.

He pulled off and sat studying the weathered, unpainted building. The place was almost entirely hemmed in by woodland, thick and dark. Veiled by the steadily falling rain, it looked much like a listing ship on an empty sea, built as it was on a slight slope of
ground. The pathway that once led to the door was nearly obscured now by the heavy growth of brambles and weeds

A sudden sense of isolation swept over David. Whether it was the storm-driven night or the forbidding aspect of the building, he felt oppressed by the menacing appearance of the place. Ever susceptible to the mood or ambiance of a landscape or a dwelling, he could almost imagine a hovering malevolence about the setting before him. It was as if he could actually smell the rotting wood and the mold and the decay festering all around him. He cringed at the thought of what he knew he had to do.

“I'm going to have a look inside the place,” he told Susan.

She looked at him, then at the mill house. “I'll go with you,” she said, pulling her coat snugly around her.

“No,” said David, putting a hand to her arm. “I want you to stay here.”

“But, David—”

He looked at her, still restraining her with his hand. “I'll just be a moment. Wait for me here.”

Just in case,
he told himself as he lit the extra lantern he'd brought with them.
Just in case this dread closing in on me isn't merely a trick of my imagination.

The haphazardly hung door was barred by a simple wooden plank that David easily turned to allow entrance.

The stench hit him full force the moment he stepped inside, a vile mix of putrefaction, dampness, and animal waste. He lifted the lantern out in front of him and stood surveying his surroundings. The place was filthy, with piles of dirt and debris, clumps of animal fur and droppings, grain dust, and scattered leavings that spoke of young people who might have used the building for idle mischief or even assignations.

He took a few more steps, extending the lantern even higher and farther out in front of him. Even with the lantern light, the place was so dark he could see little.

His gaze came to rest on another door, directly across from him. And at the foot of the door, he saw her.

Face down, her clothes in disarray, without so much as a wrap or a bonnet to protect her from the dank cold, lay Phoebe Esch, unmoving.

 
18
 
F
INDING
P
HOEBE

But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.
Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust;
And still my soul would cleave to thee,
Though prostrate in the dust.

A
NNE
S
TEELE

A
dozen drums beat an agony in David Sebastian's head as he stood staring down at Phoebe Esch.

Finally he knelt beside her. Misery flowed a bitter stream through his soul. Though his eyes were dry, his heart wept, and his spirit cried for mercy as he checked for what he already knew he would find.

As a doctor he had met with death too many times throughout the years not to recognize it instantly. Even so something deep within him cried out that just this once he might be mistaken.

Please, Lord.

When he realized it was not to be, he clenched his fist against the reality of it and forced down the knife of pain that threatened to rend his chest. After a moment he studied the thing on her back for the second time, his blood thundering in his ears as he struggled with a rage forbidden by his newly adopted church.

Then he rose, whispered a prayer over Phoebe's lifeless body, and forced himself to return to Susan, still waiting outside.

The moment Susan saw David step out of the building and look toward her, she knew.

She put a fist to her mouth, her gaze locked on him, following every step he took. When he reached the buggy, their eyes met, and she choked on the well of tears she'd been struggling to hold back all night.

Still, perhaps she had misread him…perhaps Phoebe was hurt but yet within reach of help…perhaps she had been wrong about the terrible look on his face.

But when he climbed heavily into the buggy, set the lantern down, and reached for her, Susan felt her last thread of hope slip away and slowly unravel, releasing her fear and shock and pain into a churning well of despair.

“I have to go to her.”

“No, Susan. There's nothing you can do now.”

“I need to see her, David!”

But he held her even more closely. “Please trust me, Susan. It's not what Phoebe would want for you.”

Her soft weeping broke his already aching heart. He felt weakness descend upon him, but he held her firmly, resolved that she not see the ugliness inflicted upon her closest friend.

Finally he felt her go slack in his arms. “Like a sister, she was to me,” Susan murmured. “Who would hurt our gentle Phoebe? She knew nothing but good, nothing but living her faith and following the Lord God.”

David remained silent, unwilling to tell her that Phoebe's goodness had almost certainly been her undoing.

 
19
 
A G
RIEF
S
HARED

Fret not thyself because of evildoers.

P
SALM
37:1

G
ant was down on one knee, showing Terry Sawyer how to replace a front stretcher on a broken rocking chair.

Over the past few days, Gant had found the younger man to be just as Gideon predicted: a quick learner and grateful for a job, albeit a temporary one. He was turning out to be a good helper, though no real replacement for Gideon, who had developed into a surprisingly good carpenter in his own right.

Gant looked up when the bell chimed and Doc Sebastian walked in. One look at his friend's face told him there was trouble.

“That'll do it,” he told Sawyer, as he hauled himself to his feet. “We'll let it dry and finish up tomorrow. You'd best see to the deliveries now.”

As soon as Sawyer exited the back of the shop, Gant turned to Doc. “That's the fellow Gideon may have mentioned to you, the one whose wife is going to have a baby. I was hoping you could pay her a visit.”

Doc gave a distracted nod but said nothing.

“What's wrong?”

Gray-faced, his eyes deeply shadowed, Doc looked as if he hadn't
slept for days. He stood in silence, his hat in hand, his tall, lean form slightly stooped. From exhaustion Gant surmised.

“Doc?”

“It's Phoebe Esch. She's gone.”

“Gone?”

“She died last night.”

Doc expelled a long breath, as though the effort of those few words had depleted him.

Gant stared wordlessly at him, his body going rigid with surprise. “
Phoebe?
What happened?”

As he watched, a wintry expression spread over the other's face. “It seems she was abducted.”

“
Abducted
—”

Again Gant sensed the fatigue wearing on his friend. “Let's go in the back,” he said. “I'll get us some water.”

In the back room, Gant pulled out a chair from behind the table. “Here. Sit down.”

After pumping them each a cup of water, he sat down across from Doc.

He waited until the other took a long drink before asking, “What happened?”

Doc shook his head. “We don't know. Apparently she left Rachel's to walk home after a visit. She never got there. We searched for hours, just Rachel, Malachi, and I at first. Finally a little after midnight, we called out the People to help.”

He sat in silence for another moment, staring at the cup in front of him. Tension built up in Gant, and he caught himself holding his breath, dreading what he would hear next.

Doc went on, his voice sounding hoarse and unsteady. “We found her, Susan and I, at the old mill house. You know the place?”

Gant nodded.

Doc sucked in his breath. “She had been…badly treated. Not beaten, exactly, but knocked about. And dragged, I think. She was
wet—it rained most of the night, you know. And she was barefoot, her legs scratched and bruised. Her prayer cap was missing, and so was her coat. There was a bad cut and a lump on the back of her head. Clearly she'd had some rough treatment.”

“Rough enough to
kill
her?”

The thought of someone hurting a woman like Phoebe Esch, mistreating her, bullying her, scalded Gant's blood. For a moment his mind lost touch with what Doc was saying.

But the other's next words called him back. “No, her injuries weren't that severe. I examined her more thoroughly this morning, and I'm fairly certain she died from a heart attack.”

He paused. “The people who did this to her probably had no intention of causing her death, but as far as I'm concerned, they murdered her just as surely as if they'd put a gun to her head.”

A storm blew up in Gant's mind. Phoebe Esch had always struck him as goodness itself. From the first time they'd met, she had shown him nothing but kindness. With her gentle features and clear, honest gaze, the Amish woman had the kind of saintly presence that inspired a man to speak softly and tread quietly when near her.

“How could anyone hurt that good woman?” he bit out.
“Why
would anyone hurt her?”

Doc rubbed a hand down the side of his face. “There's more.”

Gant looked at him.

“They had pinned a piece of paper with some writing on it to her back.”

Sickness welled up in Gant. He clenched and unclenched his hands once, then again.

“‘
Slave Lover.
' That's what it said. Just those two words.”

Gant's rage froze to shock. “Somebody knows about her and Malachi helping the runaways.”

Doc nodded. “Obviously that's the case.”

Gant tried to think. “And it's someone nearby, close enough to have seen something. How else would they know?”

“Not necessarily. There have been rumors over the past year or so about some among the Amish harboring refugee slaves. No names were ever mentioned, but where did the stories come from in the first place?”

Gant could make no sense of it. His mind felt fragmented, his thoughts scrambled with questions and confusion. “Do you have
any
idea who might be behind this?”

“It could be anyone,” Doc said. “I've already been to the authorities—and not for the first time. They said what they always say; ‘We'll look into it.' And I suppose they will. I suppose they'll give it another cursory investigation, but they won't spend much time on it.”

Gant had heard this before. Like Doc he found the lack of action on the part of the law highly frustrating. On the other hand, what exactly could they do? Where would they even start?

Another thought struck him. “This has to be hard on Rachel and Susan. They were so close with Phoebe.”

Again Doc gave a weary nod. “They're having a difficult time of it. But the Amish accept death with a great deal of grace. They see it as a part of life itself, as God's will. And as you know, their acceptance of His will is total. It's not that they don't grieve. But for the most part, it's a shared grief. The People face any kind of loss as a community, and that somehow makes it a little easier to bear. Susan and Rachel—and Malachi and the boys, of course—are finding it difficult to cope right now, as you can imagine. Especially given the shock—and the cruelty—of Phoebe's death. But they'll be all right in time.”

He stopped, his tone reflective as he added, “Through the years I've seen it time and time again. The Amish persevere. They grieve. They accept. They forgive. And they go on. It's their way.”

Gant leaned back and studied his friend. “I suppose you understand how that can be possible, your being so much like them. But I confess I
don't
understand.”

“No, I suppose you don't. But how I wish you could.” Doc regarded him with a strange look, a look that seemed to hold a touch of both sadness and fondness. “Your first thought is most likely vengeance. You'd like to go after the ones who did this and exact justice. Am I right?”

Gant shrugged.

“The Lord says vengeance belongs to Him.”

“I know that,” Gant said, though more than once he had questioned if God never used one of His creation to exact His vengeance.

Doc was watching him with a thoughtful expression. “I pray for you, you know.”

Gant made a grumbling sound of some embarrassment, and Doc actually smiled a little—the first time since he'd arrived. “Oh, yes, I do, my Irish friend. I pray that one day you'll find yourself a community—a
family
—to be a part of, so you can know the grace of burdens shared instead of always trying to bear them alone.”

Gant quickly glanced away. Not that he wasn't grateful for his friend's concern and his prayers, but the painful truth was that he had already found that community, that
family,
only to realize that he would always be standing on the outside looking in.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat to ask Doc about the services for Phoebe Esch. He might not be a part of her family or the Amish community, but he definitely cared enough to share their grief.