Her Secret Amish Child Page 15

  Passing Joe, an older man who had recently been hired by Mose to work short shifts when the need arose, Lizbeth nodded her head and made her way to the back of the store. A quiet man with a rotund belly and short legs, Joe reminded her of the Englischers’ Santa Claus. He tugged at his long, fluffy white beard and nodded back to her.

  The front bell dinged. She stilled her hand and glanced over. Her fingers tugged at her prayer kapp as Mose and Fredrik paraded in, both men drinking from cups with straws. Fredrik’s eyes sought her out. He grinned her way as both men moved toward the workshop at the back of the building. His gaze lingered. Could he tell she was still reeling from the night before, her stomach still quaking? She smiled to reassure him she was fine and went back to dusting.

  He’d spoken softly to Benuel before he’d left for the night and walked to the back of the property. His words were meant to reassure the quiet, troubled child. Had Benuel believed him? She didn’t know, but the child had slept erratically next to her in the bed and cried out in his sleep more than once. He’d refused breakfast this morning, and when she’d left him at school later, he hadn’t said much, just waved goodbye and walked into the building with his head low.

  Her conversation with his teacher had given her a ray of hope that all would be well today. The smiling young teacher assured her she would be able to manage Benuel’s ADHD issues now that she knew what was motivating his behavior. She would give him special consideration.

  Lizbeth knew his attention problems would be an ongoing battle, but as he aged, his moods would mellow, his attention span lengthen. As a child, Fredrik had always been overactive and prone to silly moods, but his attitude had relaxed and changed for the better. He seemed able to cope with life’s demands without a problem now. Like Fredrik, Benuel would never be a patient man, never be able to sit still for long, but he had Gott in his corner and her father around to help smooth out the rough spots.

  Prayer brought her comfort after the day she’d had, but her nerves were still stretched taut.

  When a man of Ishmael’s coloring and stature entered the store a few minutes later, Lizbeth fought down the urge to run. Would she ever feel safe? If he came back she would have to take her soh and leave Pinecraft. And if she did, where would they go? Nee, she had to tell Fredrik the truth about Benuel soon. He would help keep the boy safe.

  Her son’s slumped shoulders and sad expression from this morning still troubled her. Maybe she should have taken him to Ulla’s today. Like Lizbeth, his mind had to be on Ishmael’s sudden visit.

  She watched Fredrik move toward the back of the store. He was whistling and seemed happy with life. She longed for that feeling of contentment. Would Gott grant her the wish in her heart? Would Fredrik forgive her for keeping Benuel a secret? Would the man ever grow to love her as she did him? Her common sense told her probably not.

  Chapter Eighteen

  All caught up on his work at the furniture barn, Fredrik looked forward to the friendly camaraderie and distraction of his biweekly volunteer job with the fire department. Not fully trained yet, he often spent his late afternoons cooking at the local firehouse instead of fighting fires.

  As it was located just blocks from his job, he had plenty of time to grab a quick bite of lunch and then ride over to Ringling Street. He parked between Les Cooley’s big four-wheel-drive truck and the chain-link fence that surrounded the single-story fire station.

  Glad to be out of the heat, he made his way through the side door and enjoyed the frigid air that surrounded him. Quieter than usual, Gabriel Torres sat manning the phone behind his cluttered desk. The dog-eared paperback the Englischer was reading showed a gory picture on the front, with the mystery’s title written across a bloody body on the ground.

  Fredrik lifted his hand and waved. “Afternoon, Gabe. How’s life treating you?”

  Overweight, with the personality of a comic and the sensitivity of a mule, Gabriel Torres lowered his book and nodded. His smile was warm and welcoming. “Good. You?”

  Fredrik laughed as he shrugged. “Can’t complain. You guys been busy?”

  “Not really. Just a small fire out by a couple of homes. You training today?”

  “Nee, cooking. Anything special you want me to fix?” He was familiar with the man’s ferocious appetite, knew most of his likes and dislikes. It would be chicken and dumplings or meatballs and noodles.

  The big man licked his lips and grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a plate of those Amish meatballs and cheesy noodles you make.”

  “You got it,” Fredrik replied and then jerked open the swinging door on his left.

  The kitchen was empty, the well-equipped galley cluttered with glasses filled with melting ice or half-drunk tea and cola cans. He was sure he had all the ingredients needed to prepare the simple, but filling, dish Gabriel asked for. There’d be at least a dozen volunteers and first responders coming in and out as the day shift ended and the night shift began.

  The clean apron he pulled from the supply closet wrapped twice around his slim waist. He turned to face the long kitchen butcher-block island and picked up the small eraser board left by the day crew. His finger ran down the list of chores he’d need to cover before his shift was over. The meal needed to be cooked by five, but Tony, the kitchen manager, had noted that the pantry needed to be restocked by the day-shift workers as soon as possible.

  To help out, he wrote a list of groceries needed for the busy firemen and left it on the counter for them to find. He welcomed any additional work. The tasks would help him forget about Lizbeth for a while.

  Since she’d returned to Pinecraft, his thoughts had somehow become focused on her little family. Lizbeth still mystified him with her grace and beauty, but she’d changed.

  He’d enjoyed teasing her as a teen, but his once-casual feelings for her had developed into something more intense of late. If she showed even the least bit of serious interest in him, he would ask her to marry him. He liked it when they spent time together. He already knew they were compatible. They could make a good marriage, if she’d just give him half a chance.

  He smiled to himself, enjoying the idea of them as a family. He’d have a fine son in Benuel. Maybe they’d have children of their own, too. He knew he was ready to settle down. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

  Not patient, especially about something so important, he sighed with frustration. He had a suspicion Lizbeth might never be interested in him. Not in the way he wanted. Why hadn’t lively, good-spirited Gracie been enough for him? The young widow seemed to enjoy spending time with him. He found her comely and respectable, but their courtship hadn’t gone anywhere and that was his fault. The widow had a winning personality, several great kids, but there had been something lacking between them. Something vital to him. He had to love the woman he married and he didn’t love her, hard as he tried. He wanted a fraa, a familye, but was it too much to want love, too? Even if it meant risking another rejection?

  He took his straw hat off and then raked his hands through his hair. May Gott’s will be done, he prayed and washed his hands again before filling the dishwasher with glasses. Ishmael’s threats had made a serious impact on Lizbeth and the boy the day before. He’d never seen a woman or child so terrified. If Ishmael was an example of what she’d dealt with in Ohio, no wonder she wanted no part of having a man in her life.

  The mystery behind her years in Ohio intrigued him. Was abuse the cause of her change in personality? It would explain why Benuel was so stressed. He was just a little boy, someone who should be enjoying his young life to the fullest. But instead the child tensed at every noise, seemed unable to fit into the Plain life around him.

  Several men with smutty faces and dressed in lightweight gear ambled into the kitchen, all complaining they were parched and looking for cold drinks, something to snack on. They’d been fighting a grass fire just inside Sarasota Count
y and needed to cool down quick.

  “Looks like you had a hot afternoon,” Fredrik commented as he poured the fresh lemonade he’d prepared earlier. He added ice to tall plastic glasses and cracked open a new bag of chocolate chip cookies. The men gathered around as he dumped the whole bag onto a plate.

  Five dirty hands reached out and grabbed handfuls of cookies. “The fire wasn’t the problem. It’s the humidity,” Will said, pulling out a chair and straddling it. He stuffed two cookies into his mouth and smiled as he chewed, his cheeks bulging. New at the station and still not used to working outside in Florida’s harsh summer heat, the Englischer’s face was red and sweaty.

  Caught up in preparing the meal, Fredrik half listened to the men’s friendly banter. The hamburger sizzled as he dropped the breaded meatballs loaded with onions, bell peppers and minced garlic cloves into the hot skillet and waited for them to start browning.

  He was putting water in a big pan for noodles when he heard Benuel’s name mentioned in conversation.

  Fredrik set down the pan and turned on his heel. “What did you say about Benuel Mullet?”

  Abraham, a grizzled old Amish volunteer Fredrik had known most of his life, answered, “I don’t know all the facts, but he went missing this afternoon. They’re checking all the usual places. If he’s not found soon we’re forming a search party over at the Mennonite school.”

  Fredrik quickly wiped at his hands as he asked, “Where was he last seen?”

  “I heard he was on the school playground. His poor mamm sure is torn up. My fraa called on my work cell and said she couldn’t get the woman to stop crying.”

  The shrill screech of the fire alarm went off, sending first responders scurrying for their protective gear.

  Fredrik turned the flame off under the pans and flew through the swinging kitchen door and into the heart of the building. Gabriel shouted the address and description of the building to the lead firefighter as he hurried out the front of the building.

  “Isn’t that the old Murphy building located a few blocks from the Mennonite school?” Fredrik asked.

  The big man’s chair protested as he swiveled and faced Fredrik. “It sure is. Why?”

  A cold chill sliced through him. His breath became fast and shallow. “A five-year-old boy is missing and his school’s a few blocks away. You think there’s any chance—”

  “There’s always a chance. Let’s get over there and make sure that building is empty.”

  Fredrik’s hands shook as he suited up. He wasn’t fully trained, but he wasn’t about to wait around to hear if Benuel had gone in that building’s direction. His brow furrowed as he tugged on high boots and ran alongside Gabriel.

  He’d grown more attached to Lizbeth’s little boy than he’d realized. His heart pumped hard and fast as he jumped onto the fire truck and they sped away. Please, Gott. Don’t let Benuel be anywhere near that fire. Keep him safe for Lizbeth. And for me.

  * * *

  The crowd of people gathered around the old building grew, their bodies pushing in on Lizbeth from every side. She fought to keep her place at the front of the police barricades and yellow tape.

  “Please, my boy may be in there,” she moaned, brushing hair out of her damp eyes. Ulla appeared out of nowhere and slipped her arm around Lizbeth’s waist.

  “We don’t know that, Lizbeth.”

  Lizbeth nodded. “Ya, we don’t know for sure.” Her voice broke. But he could be in the burning building. Bile rose in her throat. Someone had seen him on the property less than an hour before. The Englischer had said the boy had paused and looked at the building, but the man had become distracted and didn’t know if the child had gone into the building or not.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, freezing cold and trembling in the summer heat. Why had Benuel run away? Had he gotten into trouble again at school or had Ishmael’s return upset him more than he’d let on?

  People were whispering around her. Pointing her way. What were they saying? Did they think her soh was hurt and unable to make his way out of the fire? The thought agonized her. Another shudder racked her body. Benuel, where are you? Her eyes fixed on the double doors of the construction building.

  Otto Fischer made his way to her and took her hand, speaking encouraging words. The strength of the old man’s firm hold bolstered her. Gott was with her. His will be done, she repeated over and over in her head until she thought she would lose her mind.

  She glanced up at the sky, looking for some sign that all would be well, but saw nothing but black smoke and the worried faces all around her. Would Benuel end up in a grave like her other sohs? Would she lose him, too? Was this Gott’s punishment for her keeping her secret from Fredrik? Her legs buckled and Otto and Ulla held her up, their arms locked around her waist. Gott’s will be done. Gott’s will be done.

  Three firemen rushed from the building, their flame-retardant suits bulky on their bodies. Plumes of billowing black smoke shifted with the wind, licking at the ground around them. “Did Daed check the yard around the apartment again? He might have found a way into the house,” she stammered, coughing from the acrid smoke burning her throat.

  “Ya, he and the men are looking everywhere.” Ulla’s eyes pleaded with her. “Won’t you please come with me? We’ll check the roads leading up to the park. He likes to play there. I have your father’s work phone. The police are certain-sure to call us when they find him.”

  “Nee, I’ve got to stay here. Benuel will need me if he’s hurt.”

  “But you can’t be sure he’s in there, Lizbeth. He could be anywhere, safe and sound. Think positive. Gott is with him.”

  The building groaned. Lizbeth shuffled on the balls of her feet, trying hard not to fall as the crowd moved back. Two firemen rushed out of the building, one carrying a small bundle wrapped in a silver blanket. A stretcher was placed on the ground and the blanket unrolled. The blue shirt and dark trousers her son had worn to school covered the body of the small boy on the ground.

  Lizbeth’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt unable to breathe. She couldn’t seem to swallow as she pushed forward and rushed toward the crowd of first responders. With a breaking heart she cried out, “Gott have mercy on my boy. Benuel!”

  * * *

  Fredrik stumbled forward, dense smoke swirling in the sunlight directing him toward the big doors. Joy filled his heart. They’d found Benuel on the second floor, curled up and crying, but he was all right. Thank Gott he was all right and they’d gotten him out of this furnace.

  A board fell, and then two. Just behind him, Gabriel called out, “Make a run for it! The ceiling’s coming down.”

  An explosion rocked the ground. Concrete and wood shook. The walls screamed, metal tearing metal. The darkness around him became alive with flames and falling rubble. Gabriel grabbed his arm, pulled him forward. The two men ran as one, stumbling over fallen debris. Something solid hit Fredrik and he went down. Unbelievable heat covered him. Pain pierced the side of his head. His world went silent and black.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A nurse in a white smock covered in yellow smiley faces pushed out a door down the hall. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked as she walked with purpose, her gait long. The vibrant black color of her hair sparked under the fluorescent light overhead as she glanced at the chart in her hand and then surveyed the pensive faces in the cold waiting room.

  Lizbeth half rose, her hands still grasping the arms of the uncomfortable hospital chair upholstered in cold, slick leatherette. Her mind was numb with fear and dread. She compressed her lips together and waited.

  Tall and lean, the nurse made her way over and stopped in front of Lizbeth’s chair. “Lizbeth Mullet?” she asked, her voice soft and inquiring.

  “Ya. You have news? Is my boy...?” She stood to her feet and swayed.

  “Calm
down, Mama.” The nurse smiled, urging Lizbeth back into the chair with her hand. “We don’t want you passing out on us.” Her pale brown eyes warmed with compassion as she patted Lizbeth’s hand and said, “Your little boy’s going to be just fine.”

  “The doctors are sure? He’s breathing easy now?” She raked her hand through her tangled hair and tried to bring back a semblance of order to the falling bun at the base of her neck. Her kapp lay crumpled on the floor, forgotten.

  The nurse chuckled, her easygoing demeanor calming Lizbeth. “He’s breathing like a champ and calling for his mama. You can come see for yourself if you promise not to faint on me.”

  Lizbeth rose, but instantly saw an array of colorful stars swirling around her and slumped back down. She gave a mirthless laugh, annoyed at her own show of weakness. “I guess I’m a little shakier than I realized.”

  Taking the empty seat beside Lizbeth, the nurse sat a handful of files on her knees and looked Lizbeth over. “Did you inhale any of the smoke?”

  “Some, but not a lot.” She cleared her dry throat.

  “Let me get you a cool glass of water and then we’ll make our way slow and easy to the pediatric ward. I’ll have one of the doctors check you over after you’ve had a word with your son.”

  Lizbeth nodded and then looked up, her hand clutching her throat. Her concern for Benuel was replaced by her fear for the firemen who’d been trapped in the building. “Do you know... Did all the firemen make it out alive?”

  The nurse scooped up the files on her lap and stood. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’m sure someone on the floor can find out for you. Why don’t I find a wheelchair for you and get you to him?”

  Lizbeth rubbed her temples. “Ya, I need to see my boy, make sure he’s all right.”

  A moment later Lizbeth gasped as she was pushed into her Benuel’s room and saw him. He appeared small and frail in the twin-size hospital bed made up with glistening white sheets. A thin plastic tube came from around the side of the bed and supplied oxygen through a cannula positioned under his small nose.