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Akiva cleared his throat. “You'll want to change for bed.”

“I don't have any clothes. I didn't bring anything.”

A long pause filled the space between them before he spoke again. “I'll get you some.”

She faced him again. “Jacob…Akiva…how long will I be gone from my home, my family?”

He blinked slowly as if he hadn't considered that question. “As long as it takes.”

“But—”

“This is how it must be, Rachel.”

Her lips pressed together. Her legs turned to boiled spaghetti. Her thoughts seemed all twisted around.

“Go to bed.”

And so she did. She sat down on the edge of the double bed, trying to forget the similar motel rooms she'd shared with Jacob as they'd crossed half the country together, the rumpled sheets, their shared sweat and heat. Worse, she refused to think about Josef. She toed off her tennis shoes, left her socks on her feet, and lay down on the bed, turning on her side, bending her knees to brace the underside of her belly, and closing her eyes. Akiva moved about the room, but she never experienced a dip in the mattress of him lying down beside her. She remained quiet and still, her heart fluttering in her chest, as her thoughts drifted and swayed and finally melted into nothingness.

But dark dreams emerged. Shadows reached out to her with long, spindly fingers, clawing at her. A drumbeat resounded in her head; cries split her skull.

She bolted upright, blinking against the darkness. Red pierced the blackness, and she stared at the threadlike numbers glowing beside the bed:
12:06
. She listened, straining to hear Akiva or movement.
Something.
But only her ragged breathing filled the room. She wasn't sure how much time passed as she sat in bed, her heart thumping, her skin damp with sweat, her mind turning from the images that had played across her sleep.

Then the lock shifted. The knob turned. The door opened. An outside light illuminated Akiva's pale features.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his gaze settling on her.

“I had a dream.”

“Haven't we all?” His remark had a caustic bite. He tossed a plastic bag onto the bed. “It's the best I could do.”

Tilting her head, she watched him close the door, lock it, then slide a hand between curtain and window, staring out at the parking lot for a moment, as if watching for something.

“Go ahead,” he said without looking in her direction. “Open it.”

She reached for the plastic bag and pulled out a peach-colored nightgown. It was made of a flimsy material, something synthetic and slinky, and it slipped through her fingers like water. It wasn't anything like her white cotton gown at home. Longing welled up inside her.

“You hate it.”

“No, it's just…different.”

“Different than what you wore when we drove to New Orleans?”

Her face flared at the memory.

“Go on and change. It's late. And we're leaving early.” He nodded toward the tiny bathroom. She'd discovered earlier it had only a toilet and shower. No bathtub. Two towels had been folded and perched on a metal rack. Outside the bathroom was a sink with barely enough room to place a toothbrush.

“Danke.”

“Yeah, sure.” He stripped off his leather jacket and flung it over a chair.

She noticed a stain on the front of his shirt, and his gaze followed hers. He tugged at his shirt then yanked it over his head, wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. His chest was pale with a smattering of dark hair.

“Hurry up.” His tone brooked no argument. “You need help taking off your dress?”

Galvanized, she stood up from the bed, wobbled for a second before righting herself. “I can manage.”

Changing in the small bathroom was not easy. Her hip bumped the doorknob, and her elbow knocked into the shower's plastic curtain as she took off her
kapp
. With shaking hands, she began removing the pins securing her apron in place. Finally, she slipped off her dress and folded it. She wished there was a mirror to check her appearance before she walked back into the motel room. The nightgown wasn't as revealing as she had feared, but her full breasts jutted forward, and her round belly pushed against the supple fabric. She unwound her hair and let the long strands cover her shoulders and chest.

She flipped the switch in the bathroom, dousing herself with blackness, and then stepped out into the now-darkened room. The curtains over the window blocked any lights from the parking lot. A soft glow from the blinking red numbers on the bedside clock helped her navigate her way back to the bed, slowly and carefully, until she bumped her leg against the mattress. Using it as a guide, she maneuvered around to the side she'd occupied earlier and settled on the edge, grateful for the darkness.

She could see Akiva's shadowy form on the other side of the mattress, only a foot away, but he was quiet and still, hopefully asleep. She began to breathe easier and deeper. Cautiously, so as not to dip the mattress too much to draw his attention or disturb him, she stretched out on the bed on top of the covers, cushioning her head with the thick pillow, which smelled of Clorox. She wiggled her bare toes and stared up at the blackened ceiling. A breath of air-conditioning blew across her body, and her skin puckered in response.

The moments ticked away, and she felt the baby inside her shift and turn. Often at night, she felt the baby move, and she figured it was because she was finally still herself. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she blinked slowly, breathed deeply, and began to finally relax.

“You're still beautiful, Rachel.” Akiva's voice came out of the dark and startled her. “‘It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe, But sweet was the slight and spicy smell It breathed from its heart invisible.'”

His words floated over her like cool water. She remembered how he used to quote poetry. “Is that a poem?”

“Emily Brönte.”

“Who?”

He shook his head. “Doesn't matter.”

“I'm sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn't. Are you cold? Do you want under the covers?”

“I'm fine.”

Quiet once again trembled between them. Akiva rolled to his side, and his gaze settled on her as solidly as his hand. Her eyes stayed wide and searched only the ceiling, which had a crack running from the door to the middle. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her heart thumped beneath her breastbone. When he reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his index finger, her scalp tingled at the gentle touch. She held her breath, waiting, wondering, worrying:
What
did
he
want? What would he demand?

“You haven't changed so much, you know, Rachel?”

She stiffened. “You're wrong. You don't know me.”

He straightened a long lock of her hair then released it. His hand hovered near her shoulder then slowly lowered along the length of her body, grazing the side of her breast, which caused her a sharp intake of breath. But he kept moving as if he didn't notice or care.

Once Jacob had been insatiable about sex. But maybe he no longer wanted sex with her.
But
what
did
he
want?
His hand finally came to rest, his fingers splaying outward over the tautness of her belly. His hand was overly warm, his touch like a brand. The baby kicked in what seemed like a direct response.

“He's strong.”

She remained silent, afraid to speak or move. When his hand didn't shift, she finally said, “I don't know that it's a boy. It could be—”

“It's a boy.” His voice was firm.

“What are you doing here?” Tears from a hidden place shot to the surface and burned her eyelids. “What do you want with me?”

“It's for your baby's sake.”

Her hand touched the other side of her rounded stomach. “My baby? Please, Jacob…let me go home.”

“When your baby is born. Then you can go.”

Her heartbeat sputtered. “But you said…I could be home in time for the baby's birth. Why so long?”

“Less than three months, I would guess.”

“Yes, but why?”

“For your safety.”

It felt as if a cold hand cupped her throat and squeezed. “W-what do you mean?”

“Trust me, Rachel. That's all I ask. After your baby is born, then you can go.”

Puzzled by his words, she remained on the bed, not moving as his hand stayed firmly against her belly as if he owned her and her baby. The seconds stretched out into minutes and hours.

Eventually, seeking a more comfortable position, she turned onto her side toward Akiva, bent her knees to relieve the low ache in her back, and slept.

***

She dreamed of Josef. He was standing before her, watching her; then he reached his hand out as if to touch her stomach, their baby, in an effort to protect the small life and guard her. But his hand hit a thick glass barrier, which thumped at the contact. He splayed his hand against the glass, unable to reach her. His eyes filled with so many words he couldn't seem to say but she seemed to know, because those words were in her heart. She placed her hand against the cold glass, desperate to reach him, to reconnect.

For a long time, he simply stood there, separated and yet not. Then the glass trembled beneath the pressure of their love, their needs, their hopes, and a crack shot through it, starting at the place of contact between their palms and splintering outward.

She awoke, blinking against the early morning light and shivering beneath the blanket. The space beside her was empty. Akiva was gone.

Eli Troyer stuck to his story. But by the way he slanted his gaze away from Levi and Hannah, Roc read between the lines.

They were gathered in the Troyer barn, and slivers of light slanted through the slats of wood. Roc sat on an old wooden crate. Beside him, Levi and Hannah spoke quietly to the teenager, hoping the truth would pour forth.

Again, he shook his head. “I told you all I know.”

Roc fiddled with the miniature notebook he carried, twisting the metal spiral until it had unwound from half the paper holes. Finally, he'd had enough, smacked the pad of paper on the crate, and stood. “It's all right, Levi. No sense in pressuring the boy. We'll do the best we can with the information we've got.”

“But—” Hannah said then stopped. Her eyes filled with desperate tears, and she twisted her hands together.

Roc gave a nod to the youngster. “If anything comes to you, anything at all, let Levi know. He knows how to get in touch with me.”

“I will, but I don't know anything.”

“So you said.” Roc walked out of the barn, followed by a reluctant Levi and Hannah.

“I'm sorry that was a waste of time,” Levi said, heading back toward his buggy.

“No worries, Levi. I'll let you know if I learn anything.” Roc opened the door of his Mustang then stopped and patted his jeans pockets. “I forgot my notebook.” He gave a wave to the couple. “You two go ahead. No need to wait on me. I'll just be a minute.”

Hannah and Levi climbed into their buggy and were off down the dirt driveway, heading back toward their home, the horse's hooves making a crunching sound in the gravel.

Roc eyed the barn. For being squeamish about electricity, the Amish sure had a lot of power lines and cords running this way and that. Things weren't always as they seemed.

He ducked back inside the barn and saw Eli puffing away on a cigarette. The teen snuffed it out and coughed, a cloud of smoke billowing around him.

“Didn't mean to intrude. Just forgot my notebook.”

Eli jumped up from the hay bale where he'd been relaxing. Roc thought about warning the kid about smoking in a place that could go “poof!” with one spark but decided against it. He had bigger issues at the moment.

Roc scooped up the notebook, flipped through it, then stuffed it in his hip pocket. “You know, it's a shame. I don't wanna tell Levi and Hannah, but the likelihood of finding Rachel is slim to none.”

Eli looked as if he'd just swallowed his cigarette.

“These things rarely end well. You remember Ruby Yoder, don't you?”

Eli nodded, a tight movement.

Roc shrugged. “That's how it goes. I'll do my best. But without much to go on…well, there just ain't much to go on.” He lifted his hand in a wave. “All right, I best get on out of here. Thanks for talking to us today.”

He walked toward the opening. One step. Two. Three. He'd seen the look—Eli was caving. But he didn't have many more steps till he'd be out of the barn once again. Four. Five. The shadow of the doorway slanted across him. A few more steps and the sunlight would smack him.

Maybe Roc had read him wrong. He'd believed Eli was holding back, not wanting to say anything in front of Levi and Hannah. These tight-knit communities could often be difficult to infiltrate. Everyone knew everyone else's business, but still everyone was careful what dirty laundry they aired. And here in the district of Promise, smoking a cigarette would be looked down upon.

Or maybe Roc should have played bad cop. Maybe he should have shoved Eli Troyer up against the side of the barn and shaken whatever information the kid had out of him.

Sunlight now seemed harsher in light of his failed bluff, and he squinted against the sun's rays as he stalked toward his Mustang, defeated. And now, where would he go? How would he find Rachel?

He was halfway in the car when he heard, “Hey.”

Eli stood in the shadow of the barn. He'd placed his straw hat on his head and fisted one of his suspenders.

“Yeah?”

“I saw her.”

Roc slammed the door closed. He walked back toward Eli, not breaking eye contact. “You saw Rachel?”

The boy swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. He had shed his coat, and his suspenders pinched the fabric of his white shirt over the sharp slant of his shoulders.

“Where?”

His gaze darted toward the house and field.

“I won't say anything to anyone,” Roc assured him. “But if you have important information that could help me locate Rachel, then I need to know.”

Eli licked his dry lips. “In the barn here. I saw her here. She was talking to a stranger.”

Roc took a slow breath.
Were
Levi
and
Hannah
right
then?
“A stranger? Who? What did he look like?”

“Can't rightly say. I was up above.”

“In the loft?”

“I heard him…this stranger…an
Englisher
, I reckon, asking Rachel to go with him.”

“Go where?”

Eli shrugged.

“What
did
he say?”

The boy stood completely still, his face passive.

“Look,” Roc pressed, “time is ticking here. Every minute could put Rachel in more jeopardy.”

Rubbing his jaw, Eli thought carefully before he spoke. “The stranger said something about how she could help Josef.”

“As in her husband? How could she help him?” Roc pushed back the hair off his forehead. “How do you help a dead man?”

“I don't know. That's just what the man said.” Eli glanced toward the house. “I don't know no more.”

“Did Rachel seem to know this stranger?”

Eli shrugged. “I thought he was a boyfriend or something. Weren't my business. But she went with him, of that I'm sure. You gonna write all this down in that notebook?”

“I'll remember it. Did he say his name?”

Scratching his head and tilting his hat precariously, Eli kept his gaze slanted away from Roc. “She acted like she knowed him at first, then didn't. K…Keev…Kevin maybe? Nah, that weren't it. I don't recall.”

But it was close enough to chill Roc's blood. He now knew for sure what he was up against. He clapped the boy on his shoulder. “You did right by telling me.”

“You think you can find Rachel? Bring her home?”

“I sure hope so,” Roc said. Because the alternative wasn't good.