Shunning Sarah
Authors: Julie Kramer
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For my mom—Ruth (Spartz) Kramer—a fan of the Amish
PROLOGUE
T
he missing face unnerved me. No eyes, nose, or mouth lent personality to the cloth doll clutched by the little Amish girl.
My own Raggedy Ann exuded charm while this toy sported a plain dress and an empty facade. It was spooky, even.
I felt sorry for my playmate, but could express no true condolences because we didn’t share the same language. Instead, I set four cups and saucers on a tree stump for a makeshift tea party.
Our fathers were inside the barn arguing about the price of an old crosscut saw. Mine didn’t want to sell the saw because my great-grandparents had used it to build the house where we now lived. While the dusty tool hadn’t been used in two generations, the saw told a cherished story from our family history.
The other man had immediate, practical plans for the device. The visit ended badly when it became apparent that no deal was forthcoming and the saw would remain behind. Though his beard and wide-brimmed hat masked his expression, he walked like an angry man. Untying the horse, he commanded his daughter to join him. She hurried over, absently leaving her plaything behind.
As I stood to return the doll, my eyes fell to a basket of crayons on the ground. A good deed came to mind. Round black eyes. A red triangle nose. Smiley mouth with center lip. Had there been more time, I would have added red striped leggings.
I rushed the doll over to the other girl and handed it up to her in the black buggy. The fresh face greeted her like a new friend, but instead of a smile of gratitude, her eyes grew wide with dismay.
I watched the pair ride out of our farm yard, never to return.
The next day, when I walked to the gravel road to check the mailbox, something caught my eye. The head of the doll rested among the weeds, the cloth body nowhere near.
I didn’t tell anyone what I saw, not even my parents.
That night, as I tried to sleep, the image haunted me. But somehow, by morning, I had pushed the incident from my mind and didn’t think about it for twenty-five years.
W
hat do you smell, Bowser?”
Josh Kueppers, wearing a neon orange stocking hat and carrying a shotgun, chased after his dog.
“Maybe bear?”
His voice sounded hopeful as he dreamed of returning home with such a trophy. He’d watched the news the night before and seen reports of a black bear sighting in southeastern Minnesota. So while unusual, his goal wasn’t impossible. At least, that’s what he told himself during the pursuit.
The school bus had dropped the ten-year-old off outside his family’s farmhouse. As he dumped the mail on the kitchen table, he found a note from his mother that said she’d been called to work an evening nursing shift.
She instructed him to bike over to an older friend’s place down the road, spend the night, and go to school with him the next morning. Josh smiled at the prospect of fun.
But his mother’s absence also presented another opportunity. For a hunt. So he threw on his camouflage jacket and was out the door.
Josh and Bowser, a tan mixed breed, ran through a lightly snow-covered farm field. The corn had been harvested, but not yet plowed under. An early cold spell had hit just as the calendar
touched October. He stumbled a couple of times before reaching a line of trees growing in a depression in the ground.
His dog bayed, just like a real hunting hound.
Josh’s eyes grew wide.
He held the gun steady, finger on trigger, as he glanced around to see what had attracted the animal’s attention. He didn’t want to be ambushed, although theirs did seem to be the only tracks, so he figured they were safe. He looked upward hoping to face off with a raccoon in the branches … but they were empty. No masked opponents.
He didn’t have enough experience to realize that broad daylight was less conducive to hunting wildlife than dawn or dusk. Bowser barked some more and Josh noticed a hole in the earth that looked curious. He hoped for a bear den. He moved closer, his eyes cautiously scanning back and forth for trouble, when the ground beneath him collapsed.
Josh tumbled downward amid a cascade of dirt and snow. Gradually, through a reassuring gap of sunshine, he became aware of his dog still above, sounding an agitated alarm that he feared would go unheard by anyone else.
Something smelled awful, and as his eyes adjusted to the blackness he realized he was not alone in the bottom of the pit. Fumbling for his gun, he aimed the weapon toward the sky and pulled the trigger in a calculated call for help.
Nothing happened.
Then he realized the safety was on, and tried again.
Almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t.
Instead of alerting someone of his whereabouts, the shot caused an avalanche of dirt that buried both Josh and the grisly secret beside him.
T
wo nurses had called in sick with the flu, so the emergency room was already understaffed when a semitruck smashed a minivan on the highway outside Rochester. Even though Michelle Kueppers was scheduled to be off for the rest of the week, and even though she normally worked days, she answered the hospital’s call for extra hands like a good trouper.
She tried phoning her son, Josh, at home during her break, but heard ring after ring. He was probably on his way to the neighbor’s. She’d catch him there during supper.
But her shift turned into one during which she saved a life instead of eating or calling her son. The whole floor cheered her like in one of those breathless medical dramas where attractive people in scrubs muscle a cart and IV down the hall in a race with death.
Popular television plotlines aside, directly saving a life was not an everyday occurrence on the job for Michelle. Mostly, she prided herself on her skill for assessing patients to avoid such crises. Staying ahead of trouble was considered smart nursing.
But every once in a while a patient codes, signaling cardiac
arrest. That night, lights flashed. Alarms sounded. And suddenly Michelle was kneeling on a hospital bed for better leverage while pounding the victim’s chest and cracking some of his ribs to restart his broken-down heart.
She was sore and sweaty, but looked forward to celebrating a job well done with Josh the next day.
T
he woman’s cloudy eyes freaked Josh out. Her head was crooked, and parts of her face had black splotches. She reminded him of a zombie from a movie he’d seen once at a friend’s house. But the creatures in the film were billed as living dead or walking dead. He had no doubt this woman was dead dead. And would never walk again.
Because she could not shut her eyes, he shut his. Every time he opened them a crack, she was still there—staring back. The rest of her body remained wrapped in a colorful blanket. Terrified, he stayed on his side of the pit, breathing fast and cringing.
“Bowser!” He cried for his dog, but no answer.
Josh hoped his pet had gone for help. He pulled his stocking cap over his tear-streaked face. That improved the view, but did nothing for the smell. Hours passed and he began to wonder how much time would slip by before he resembled the lifeless woman trapped beside him.
His fingernails hurt from clawing his way free of the dirt. He wished the landslide had buried his companion. Though some of her body had been covered, her head had been spared. Josh thought about kicking soil over her face so he wouldn’t have to look at her. But that seemed wrong.
He pushed his cap back so he could see better to dig, and minutes later he found the shotgun. He was afraid to pull the trigger
again, but just clutching the weapon was like holding a security blanket.
Josh sensed the sun going down. By nightfall, he wouldn’t be able to see the dead woman. But maybe knowing she was in her corner was better than imagining her coming at him in the dark.
By now, his body was shivering and his teeth chattering. Rubbing his hands over his arms didn’t help. He decided the corpse didn’t need her blanket anymore, and creepy as the idea was, huddling under it might bring him warmth. He was sure he’d feel safer. He stood, grabbed one end of the bedding, and with a few jerks, tore the cover, dirt and all, from her body.
The back of her head hit the ground, then her body rolled onto its side, and landed facing Josh. And even though the light in the pit was dim, he could tell the woman was naked, and still staring at him. Horrified, Josh crawled under the blanket and pulled it over his head to escape the mortifying view.