Lela’s little brick house. She wasn’t surprised to see the lights still on downstairs, as her sister often retired hours later than Elizabeth and her family. No need for her to get up with the chickens, after all. Wasn’t like she was a farmer’s wife.
But the thing that did surprise her was seeing the lights ablazing in the second-floor bedroom, Lela’s spare room. Whatever is she doing in there? Elizabeth wondered. Surely Lela had cleaned up after their brother and family left this morning. She kept a very tidy house, her sister did, so it wondered Elizabeth what still needed to be done. Especially at this hour.
“Comin’ up to bed?” Thaddeus called to her softly.
“Be right there, dear.” She pressed closer to the window and stood gazing down the narrow road, pale in the light of a quarter moon. “Dear Lord, please watch over my sister, Lela. And, if it be thy will, bless her with a nice husband,” she whispered into the windowpane.
Only a shard of the moon was visible when Melissa spotted the billboard just after the exit ramp to Keamy, in New Jersey. A wide sign, well lit, touted Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, as the heart of Amish Country— where time stands still .
“Exactly what I need,” she whispered to herself. “A place locked in time.”
She’d heard bits and pieces about the area, mostly about the attractions such as Dutch Wonderland and the Amish Village. Ali and her husband had spent an entire weekend a few years ago shopping the outlet malls, a big draw for tourists. They’d returned home full of talk about horse-drawn buggies and folks walking around in Plain clothing that “would make your head spin,” Ali had said.
“Like how?” Ryan had said, laughing, not sure if she were joking or not.
“The men grow beards—no mustaches—and they wear dark trousers with tan suspenders and white shirts … and straw hats,” Ali explained.
“How do the women dress?” Melissa asked.
“Long, dark, caped dresses and aprons, with little white netting caps called prayer coverings.”
Melissa hadn’t known what to make of it then, but she’d listened intently. “I’ve heard of prayer caps,” she’d said softly. “Hutterite women wear them, too.”
Ali didn’t seem to know or care much about other Plain sects, but she was eager to chat about her encounter with the horse-and-buggy people. “You should see how cute the children are!” her friend had said, describing the way the girls wore their hair parted down the middle, “without bangs at all,” and braids wrapped around their little heads.
Melissa hadn’t been so interested in hearing about “the peculiar-looking people” Ali had talked about, and certainly not all the gawking her friends must’ve done while in Lancaster. But such a place did appeal to her. She longed for quietude, at least for the night. First, she must acquire a motel, then find a telephone.
For the first time since she’d left Connecticut, she dared to relax a little. A small sense of tranquility lulled her. But only for a time.
Southeast of Trenton, near Holland on Route 276, she glanced in her rearview mirror. There it was again, the undeniable outline of a Buick sedan, coming up close.
Her heart sank. How did he find me? Melissa was aghast, overcome with both dread and disappointment. Renewed panic rushed through her veins, charging her body with needed adrenaline.
She’d memorized the highway options earlier, before the sun sank low in the sky, before it was too difficult to reach for the map and study it as she drove. There were two distinct routes available. She could remain on this interstate highway and link up with Route 202 eventually, or follow this super-highway to another multilane artery, onto Route 30, passing through Exton and Gap, wending her way to her final destination.
In way over her head, she felt helpless. She was caught in the grasp of the greatest horror she’d ever known. But she would not give up without a
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley