Amish Refuge

She screamed, anticipating the frigid water. Unable to swim, she’d drown. At the last second the car came to an abrupt halt, mired in mud. Her head hit the steering wheel. She moaned and blinked back the darkness that swirled around her.

A warning welled up from deep within her.

Run!

Dazed, she grabbed her phone, crawled from the car and staggered into the woods. Pushing through brambles, she ignored the sharp thorns that scraped her arms and tugged at her jacket. A clearing lay ahead.

In the distance she saw a farmhouse. A warm glow beckoned from the downstairs window. She turned to see the police cruiser racing down the hill, seemingly oblivious to where her car had gone off the road.

Could Serpent see her, even in the dark?

The memory of what had happened four nights ago washed over her—Miriam, her sister, Sarah, and their mother lost in the North Georgia mountains. Wrongly, they’d thought the cops would provide help.

Her heart broke. Tears filled her eyes and her body ached, but she willed her legs forward. The farmhouse was her only hope.

She crossed the clearing and reached the house. Clutching the wood banister, she pulled herself up the stairs to the porch. Relief overcame her, along with exhaustion. Too spent to lift her hand to knock, she gasped when the door opened.

Warmth from inside washed over her. A tall, muscular man stood backlit in the threshold. “Help me,” she pleaded, her head whirling. She grabbed his hand. “He...he wants to kill me.”

* * *

Abram Zook reached for the frightened woman who fell into his arms. Her plaintive cry for help touched a broken place deep within him. Instinctively he pulled her close and cradled her to him.

His sister, Emma, limped down the stairs, wrapping a shawl around her bedclothes.

“Abram, why are you standing in the doorway at this time of night?”

Coming toward him, she gasped, seeing the woman in his arms. “Gott help us.”

“Gott help this woman,” Abram countered.

He carried her to the rocker near the wood-burning stove and gently placed her on the chair.

Emma retrieved the lantern from the table but stopped short when the screech of tires pulled her gaze to the still open doorway. “Abram, look.”

He glanced to where his sister pointed, seeing headlights approaching much too fast along the icy road.

“Stay with the woman.”

Emma reached for his arm. “You cannot save the Englisch from their foolish ways. Do not get involved.”

He shrugged off her warning. “The bridge is out. I must alert the driver.”

Abram stepped onto the porch. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark night.

“Take the lantern,” Emma insisted from the doorway.

Ignoring the request, he ran toward the road, flailing his arms to flag down the oncoming vehicle.

The car screeched to a stop. The driver lowered the window. Abram raised his hand to his eyes, unable to see the driver’s face in the glare of the headlights.

“Did a car pass by here?” the man demanded, his voice as brittle as the ice on the roadway.

“The bridge is out. You must take the other fork in the road.” Abram pointed to where the narrow country path split.

The man glanced back. “Did she go that way?”

Abram would not betray the woman he had cradled against him. “Your car is the first I have seen tonight.”

Cursing, the man turned his vehicle around and screeched away from Abram. The back wheels spun on the slick pavement. He took the fork and accelerated.

Abram hurried back to the house.

Emma locked the door behind him. “Who was that man?” she asked.

“I do not know.”

“He was looking for the woman.” She stated what they both knew was true.

“Perhaps, but he will not find her tonight.”

“I tell you, Abram, she will bring trouble to this house.”

“She is in need, Emma. We will take her upstairs.”

He lifted the woman into his arms and felt her startle. “I have you. You are safe.”

She was thin, too thin.

His sister held the lantern aloft and climbed the stairs ahead of him. On the second floor she pushed open the door to the extra bedroom.

As Abram stepped past her, light from the lantern spilled over the woman’s pale face. His sister inhaled sharply.

He glanced down, taking in the blood that spattered her clothing, the gash to her forehead and the scrapes to her hands and wrists.

His heart lurched.

What had happened to this woman on the run?

* * *

“You are awake?”

Miriam blinked her eyes open to daylight filtering through the window then turned her gaze to the man standing in the doorway of the small bedroom where she lay. He had a ruddy, wind-burned complexion with a dark beard and shaggy black hair that fell below his ears. His white shirt hugged his broad chest and puckered against the suspenders attached to his trousers.

Her mind slowly put the pieces together as she glanced from his clothing to the stark bedroom furnishings and back again to her larger-than-life rescuer. Was she dreaming or had she somehow, in the dead of night, found refuge in an Amish house?

Memories flashed through her mind. Struggling to put her thoughts in order, she tugged the quilt closer to her chin.