Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (24 page)

A clicking sound woke her. Naomi lay in the spare bed, her heart galloping, and waited for it to calm. After a moment, the sound came again. A flutter against the windowpane.
Was
it
the
weather? A storm brewing? A branch or leaves?

More awake now, she pushed up on her elbows. A tap-tap on the window brought her to an upright position. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. The rhythm had no equivalent in nature. Someone was at the window.

She scrambled out of bed, and the corner of the quilt tripped her. She righted herself, headed toward the window, and stopped.
Who
could
it
be? Was it safe to open the shade? Or should she get Rachel? No, she didn’t want to disturb her.
Rachel needed her rest. Naomi stood in the middle of the room and forced herself to breathe. She was being a silly goose.
Get
a
hold
of
yourself, Naomi
.

What
if
it
were
Samuel?
Maybe they’d heard from Randy’s team. Maybe Samuel was leaving and wanted to say good-bye.

She wrapped a sweater about her shoulders and pulled the green shade away from the edge of the window. The night remained dark and gray, with a heavy covering of clouds overhead. Her eyes strained to make out shadow from form. A twig scratched the glass, and she startled, her heart leaping into her throat.

Samuel’s face appeared below. He smiled and motioned for her to come outside. Automatically, she nodded and closed the shade.

She dressed quickly, scuffing into her sneakers as she crossed the room, and pinned her
kapp
in place, pricking her finger with a pin. She hurried to the back door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the cool night.

Samuel stepped out of the shadows and took her hand in his, closing his fingers over hers. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

He pulled her toward dense foliage that bordered the property. “Not far, but we have to hurry. There’s not much time.”

She followed close behind him, her shoes snagging on roots and fallen branches. Leaves and bracken crunched beneath their footsteps. It sounded like they were loud enough to wake the dead, but no lights came on in the house behind them. Farther away was the barn, which Rachel called the training center, and it appeared even darker and quieter. Branches stretched out their prickly fingers to scratch at them, but Samuel pushed them back and made a path for her. With both hands, she clung to one of his, forming a lifeline between them.

She heard the soft, rippling sound of the Susquehanna River. They broke into the open at the same time, side by side, and a few feet more brought them to the edge of the water. She felt the soft, damp ground beneath her shoes.

“Now we can begin,” came a voice out of the dark.

Her hand tightened on Samuel’s. He squeezed back in reassurance. “It’s okay. It’s Father Anthony. He’s the one that saved me yesterday. And he’s an old friend of Rachel’s husband.”

“Did you explain to her?” the older man asked.

“Not yet. I didn’t want to wake anyone else.” Samuel faced Naomi. “I made a decision tonight. Not an easy one, one I’ve been wrestling with. You were the one that said the Lord would guide me,
ja
?”

She nodded.

“I’m a believer, Naomi. I can never go back to who I was, what I was, not now. Not after all I’ve seen and experienced. I’m not asking you to follow or be a part of this. But I want you to understand. I wanted you to be a witness. My faith in the Almighty is no less than any Amish person who is baptized. But my baptism is not for membership into a district but simply to declare that I am a believer and forgiven.”

She touched his arm and smiled. “You’re to be baptized?”

“Tonight. Here and now.” With one final squeeze of her hand, he turned toward Father Anthony, stripped out of his shirt, and waded into the water, which came to his waist.

The pale moon’s glow filtered through clouds and bathed his bare skin. He bowed his head. Father Anthony made his way out into the river and stood beside him, placing a hand on Samuel’s shoulder and raising the other to the heavens. Uttering words that sounded like another language, the priest scooped up a handful of water and poured it over the top of Samuel’s head. Rivulets of water ran unhindered down his neck, chest, and arms.

When he opened his eyes, he beamed. Feeling privileged he would want her here in this sacred moment, she dabbed at the tears in her eyes and met his smile with one of her own.

The call came just before dawn arrived, and the team set out immediately. The van bisected Ohio. They did not bother keeping to back roads but drove a relentless pace, rarely making stops and then only for gasoline.

Samuel watched the blur of landscape out the passenger window. In an odd way, it looked both familiar and foreign. He kept to himself that his folks lived southeast of Cincinnati, never mentioned he’d lived in the state for three years, never even thought of his folks or friends here. His life was back in Promise, Pennsylvania, and his heart was with Naomi. But if he allowed her into his thoughts or an image of her to settle in his mind, then he might hesitate or falter in battle. He had to break any ties to what he held dear. His focus fixated on rescuing Roc.

Joe stayed in contact with the second team, which had followed Roc’s trail this far. They were camped somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas, outside a suspicious compound, waiting for the van holding Samuel and the rest of the team. Together, they would attack the compound and rescue Roc. At least, that was the plan. They would not leave without their fearless leader.

One if not more on their team could die. And he wasn’t sure he would make it out alive either.

All of those in the van were good men, bold in their determination, honorable in their decision to fight this pestilence. Chris drove and chewed gum, his jaw popping as each mile disintegrated behind them. He never entered the conversation but bounced from radio station to station, searching for country music. Occasionally, he’d say, “Joe, you heard from the boys? They still waiting for us?”

“They will,” Joe said without opening his eyes. He rested on the far backseat.

“They don’t have a choice,” Father Anthony stated. “Not if they want to survive this ordeal.”

The priest sat in the front passenger seat, his head bent over his cell phone, his finger scrolling through messages or websites or maybe even scripture. With a calm and serene demeanor, he acted as if he already knew the outcome of this venture.

Earlier, when the call came, Anthony had confided in Samuel, “Roc’s my dearest friend. I hope I don’t have to kill him.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Anthony said, “If it were me, if I were changed, I know he would do me the courtesy. Still, Roc is strong willed. It would not be easy for them to change him. It’s more likely we’ll find him dead. If we find him at all.”

Over the past few weeks, Samuel had watched Roc and Rachel, the tender looks between them, the gentle teasing, and their deep affection. They shared the kind of love that should be the foundation of a marriage. They were good together, and he couldn’t understand why anyone, Amish included, could believe it was wrong for them to be married.

Samuel determined they would find Roc. They would rescue him. But if Father Anthony was right, and Roc had been changed, Samuel would not tell Rachel. He would simply declare her husband’s bravery to her.

He remembered Naomi standing beside Rachel on the porch as the van pulled away. She would be a comfort to Rachel if something went wrong—and vice versa.

Thunder rumbled outside. The clicking of knitting needles echoed in the sitting area of Rachel’s home as Naomi kept at her knitting, determined to make progress on the scarf for her little brother, Matt. Yet her mind continuously drifted toward Samuel and Roc and all those men in danger. Not one had voiced fear or concern. Brave determination had squared their shoulders and made their gazes steady. But she felt the cold dread of fear, even if she didn’t completely understand what danger they faced. It felt as if her heart counted each second, each minute and hour since they’d left.

Naomi missed a stitch. With an irritated sigh, she plunked the whole scarf into her lap. “Rachel,” she asked, “how did you know?”

Rachel sat in a well-worn reclining chair but with the back upright, Bible open on her lap. Her finger marked her place. For a moment, she studied Naomi. “About Roc?”

At Naomi’s nod, Rachel leaned back with a reminiscent sigh. “The idea had been forming in my mind for a while, I think, or maybe my heart. After David was born, the seed took root. When Roc brought me home to Pennsylvania, I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.” A wisp of a smile touched her lips. “I wept most of the train ride. Poor Roc thought I was scared to face my family again. But I knew—knew I couldn’t let go of him, couldn’t be away from him. I had to be a part of his life. Somehow. Someway. So I prayed and asked God what I could do, what
we
could do.” Her shoulder lifted in a barely noticeable shrug. “And I knew God would find a way. I just had a peace about all of it, even telling my family.” She chuckled. “I told them before I said anything to Roc.”

Amazed at the story that seemed so different from any of her friends’ paths to marriage, Naomi asked, “So he didn’t ask you to marry him? Or to leave the district?”

“Oh, he never would have done that. He knew the price I would pay. He’d heard about shunning. Plus, he also knew what his life was like, where he was headed, and he didn’t see a way to have a wife or family. But God had another plan.”

Concerned for her friend, Naomi prayed God would bring Roc back to his family. She admired Rachel for her courage and strength. “I know you loved him, that’s plain to see, but how did you find the courage to leave your home, your faith, everything you’d ever known?”

“I didn’t leave my faith. It’s right here.” Her hand patted the Bible—the thin paper crinkling beneath her palm—then her heart. “What I came to understand and see beyond the white picket fences of our district—there is a hurting world. And there is evil lurking, searching, determined to find it’s way into our lives.”

“
Be
sober
,” Naomi quoted scripture, “
be
vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.
”

“Exactly.” Rachel closed the Bible and brought it to her chest. “And just because we felt safe and secure in our homes, in our Amish district, behind our green shades, didn’t mean we were safe. I found a man who understood that. I couldn’t turn my back on what God was showing me or on the man I believed could do something about it.”

Truth pounded in the depth of Naomi’s heart. “And so you married Roc.”

“I did.” In spite of the fear and concern in Rachel’s blue eyes, she also had complete confidence she was following God’s will. And with that came peace.

Or so Naomi believed. But living it out was not so easy. Right now, fear gnawed at her belly and worry twisted her thoughts into doubts. She wanted to hide herself away from the hurt she feared was coming. With trembling hands, she went back to her knitting, picking up the dropped stitch. The long metal needles clicked rhythmically. Her voice sounded small when she asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

“No.” Rachel’s answer was swift, no hesitation in her voice. She leaned toward Naomi. “You’re called now too. Aren’t you?”

Her hands shook, but she stared down at the pale green knitting needles, afraid to admit the truth. She kept knitting. The clicking sounded like tiny accusations.

“Naomi?” Rachel pressed.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Naomi gripped the needles hard, feeling the yarn and metal against her palm. The textures were so different yet oddly complementary: soft and strong. Could that work in real life? When she raised her chin, tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t, Rachel. I care about Samuel. I do.” She stared at the shade and wished she could see out into the night, beyond the light rain, the churning clouds, and to the faraway place where Samuel now was. “But I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”

Rachel’s hand touched hers. “Well, you’ll know when the time is right.”

“Will I?”

“I have no doubt. You see, Naomi, I was foolish and made many mistakes. I didn’t believe God could forgive me enough to use me. But now I understand He can. He’s not looking for a perfect person. He’s looking for a willing heart.”

Her tongue dabbed the corner of her mouth where tears had gathered. “And me?”

“He’s already using you, far more than you probably realize. You’re far stronger than I am. You already know your source of strength and you wield your prayers and the word like a sword.” She closed her Bible and hugged it. The wisp of her smile faded. “Thankfully the devil cannot prevail. I just hope Samuel can learn the worth of being on God’s side. Before it’s too late.”

A twisting route and multitude of stairs placed Roc in front of a simple, unadorned door. He stood in the dim hallway, stared at the knob, but did not reach for it. He felt disconnected from his body, as if he couldn’t have made himself open the door if he’d wanted to, if his life had depended on it.

What
was
wrong
with
him?
The fact that he recognized that he was even considering such things gave him hope he might recover.

“Are you ready for this, Roc?” Brydon twisted the knob. “Brace yourself.”

Sunlight flooded the hallway. Closing his eyes, Roc swayed in the warmth. He hadn’t realized he was so numbingly cold. But now his body seemed to come alive. Brydon steadied him with a hand on his arm, then gave Roc a slight tug to move forward. Two steps then three, and his eyes fluttered, trying to open against the barrage of sunlight. A sweet, cloying scent enveloped him. Roses. He took in the lush surroundings of floral gardens. He stumbled over a slate stone; the path lead toward a gazebo. If he had to die, this would be as good a place as any. At least it was beautiful. Not that it mattered.

Emma died in a parking lot; Josef, a cemetery; Jacob, a yard. Roc hoped when the time came, he would be brave.

His thoughts turned to Rachel, and his chest tightened.
Had
he
put
enough
precautions
in
place
to
protect
her
and
David? What of the sweet baby he had come to love as his own son? What would happen to them? To their family? Their dreams? How unfair for one woman to lose two husbands and one child two fathers. Was it all Roc’s fault?
David might never remember him, and that would be for the best. But Rachel…

Anger shot through his veins at the injustice. He had lost Emma. He intimately knew the painful recovery. If there was such. But together, he and Rachel had found comfort in each other’s arms, love and purpose. She’d taught him faith. Faith in God. Faith in her. And if he died now, he’d be betraying her trust. He couldn’t just give up. He had to fight.

But
how?
He could barely manage the thought much less any action beyond blinking and walking. Yet she was depending on him. David was counting on him to come home. He would not let them down. His hand fisted, like a spasm.

“Well, well, well.” A woman—no, a vampire, with eyes as black as death, sat beneath the gazebo’s canopy. “I’ve been very curious about you, Roc Girouard.”

No words came to him as a response. He looked in her direction but raised his gaze slightly above her head. He would not directly challenge her. Ever so slowly, he released the tension in his hand.

But he remained aware of every inch of her. Any and every detail mattered because one might reveal a weakness that he could exploit. And, oh, he would.

She was beautiful in an odd sense, and yet those black eyes exposed how death methodically stalked her. It wasn’t obvious, just an observation he now recognized, having encountered many of these vampires. She was no different than the others. Maybe more powerful. Maybe not. Maybe she was spoiled and pampered. Maybe that was her weakness.

In a lethally smooth motion, she rose and moved toward him. “I must say you are delicious looking”—she leaned close and breathed in deeply—“and you smell divine. How did you resist, Brydon?”

“I am stronger than you think.”

A smile tugged at one corner of her pink, almost red lips. “So you would like me to believe.”

“I did what you asked, Jezebel,” Brydon said. “Now—”

She held up a rigid index finger. “Enough.”

She circled Roc, not touching him with her hands but eyeing him as if memorizing every contour of his shape. When she stepped in front of Roc again, he refused to meet her gaze. That gaze would rob him of attentiveness, knock him off balance, and steal his thoughts. Roberto had taught him well.

“Very nice indeed,” she said. “A wonderful specimen.”

Roc remained unresponsive.

Brydon stepped toward them. “What about—”

“And they are following?” she cut him off again.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Of course. I told—”

“Actually”—a full smile bloomed, revealing Jezebel’s straight white teeth—“some are already here. We have one.” She indicated a pitcher on the table filled with a thick, red liquid. “Or we did. Tasty. But not as tasty as this one, I’d say.”

“Suit yourself.” Brydon turned away.

“Don’t pout.” She went to him, slid her fingers along the expanse of his shoulders, tracing the curve of his back, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I have plans for you too.”

“Maybe I have my own plans.”

“Of course you do. And I can help you attain them.”