Thrown to the Wolves (The Faith in Peril Trilogy) Read online

  “They moved to Canada, I believe,” I said.

  “Several years ago,” agreed Daniel. “I’ve heard nothing more.”

  “Poor Oliver never had a moment of reprieve,” I said. “Something wasn’t right at home either, because he would come to school with bruises. Then he would be beaten at school.”

  “Not everyone is treated well in life. Not everyone has the benefit of a strong, healthy family. My friends and I were like wolves. I, unfortunately, was a bit of a ringleader, instigating most of our adventures.”

  “Beating someone senseless is an adventure?”

  “No, but the other things we did, racing buggies or smoking tobacco and such. We were rather wild. We’d go to town and listen to music at the saloon. Things of that nature.”

  “Well, you’ve told your story.” I shrugged, not feeling as if anything had changed. “Are you happy now?”

  He shook his head. “No. You still hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” How many times would I have to say that?

  “You don’t like me.”

  “I don’t know you.” This argument had not changed, nor would it.

  “Will you give me a chance to know you? Maybe if we spoke more often, you’d see me in a different light. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’ve confessed. I’ve vowed never to be like that again. I’ve never laid a hand on another human being since. I promise you that.”

  “What about Oliver? Have you apologized to him?” His downtrodden look told me no. “Just as I suspected. Did you ever think to try to find him? His family’s name is in the directory. You could easily find him.”

  “They’ve gone to Canada, Rebekah.”

  “Then send a letter.”

  He sat back, staring at me, while a pinecone burst in the fire. We said nothing for long minutes, having reached an awkward impasse. Then he spoke. “If I do this, will you talk to me?”

  “I’m speaking to you now.”

  “But your voice sounds angry. Everything about you is hostile. Your eyes are cold and your posture’s stiff and unyielding. I want to speak to you as a friend, not an enemy.”

  “You’re forcing me to be something I’m not. I can’t help the way I feel.”

  “The fact that I regret what I did holds little weight with you?”

  “You didn’t even remember the incident. You couldn’t even guess why I didn’t like you. You saw me there, staring at you while you beat that poor boy to a pulp, and you couldn’t figure it out. Why else do you think I would loathe you? What other reason could I possibly have?”

  “I know. I wanted to forget about the incident and deny it ever happened. I’m … ashamed of what I did, of what we did. I prayed you had forgotten, but I can see you didn’t. That’s the source of your resentment.”

  “I forgive you,” said Anna. “You seem entirely remorseful. You’ve confessed to the bishop, and you’ve chosen not to repeat what you’ve done. That’s enough to satisfy me. Although my approval is neither here nor there.” She glanced at me. “Rebekah’s rather stubborn about most things, but you mustn’t think her indifferent.”

  What was my sister getting at? “That’s enough, Anna,” I warned.

  “You gave her flowers, and she kept them.”

  I sprang to my feet. “Shush! We needn’t discuss this.”

  “Then she pressed them in a book for safekeeping.”

  “Quit!” This was mortifying! I wanted to throttle her.

  “Now she’ll never speak to me again.” Anna grinned ruefully. “I’m in trouble now.”

  “If I kept the stupid flowers, it’s because I thought them pretty. That has nothing to do with the person who gave them to me. They’re of no sentimental value. None.” I sat again, but I fumed, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  Daniel appeared thoughtful, his face reflecting the glow of the fire. “I’m glad you liked them.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, angry with everyone except Jacob. Still reeling from Anna’s betrayal, I had nothing to say.

  “Girls are odd creatures,” said Jacob. “I don’t understand ‘em.”

  “Me either,” murmured Daniel.

  “Let’s say our prayers and go to bed,” I said, wanting to end the discussion. “We need to wake early so we can go home. I just want to go home.” I untied my apron, intending to use it as a pillow, although it was hardly sufficient.

  “I’ll start the prayers, if you wish,” offered Anna.

  “No, I want to,” said Daniel. “Please allow me. Would you?”

  I rolled my eyes, but I had turned from everyone, so they had not seen me. “If you must,” was my terse reply. His words will be the last ringing through my ears before sleep. Oh, the injustice!

  We knelt before the fire, pressing our hands together before us.

  Daniel reached into his knapsack, retrieving a Bible. He seemed to know which passage he wanted to read, glancing at me briefly before beginning.

  “‘But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire. Matthew 5:22.’”

  Daniel left the book on the ground, getting to his feet. Stunned, I wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but he strode towards Anna and I, coming to kneel before me. “I’ll do what you ask. I’ll find Oliver and write him a letter. You won’t believe me, but I’ve thought of this over the years. I’m a coward for not trying to contact him before.”

  I gazed into his eyes, not knowing what to say, as we were supposed to be praying. “If it’ll bring you peace, then do it.”

  His expression fell, because that had not been what he wanted to hear. He got to his feet, stalking towards Jacob. “Where was I?” He flipped the pages, his mouth set in a grim line. “Ah, this one: ‘Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.’”

  “Amen,” we said, although we frequently said this prayer after all the others were concluded. Were we finished? I glanced at Daniel, wondering what else he would read, but he said nothing, his expression void, his eyes lowered. We waited, while the fire crackled, the blaze welcoming and warm.

  “It’s humbling to be judged so, but I can’t say I disagree. I’ve done things I shouldn’t have. I regret the way I treated Oliver very much. I want to take my thirteen-year-old self and knock myself in the head. I deserve no less.” He glanced my way. “I’m sorry; I’ve muddled the prayers.”

  “There’s no wrong way to pray, Daniel.”

  “Might I say I’m grateful I found you? When I first heard you’d gone missing, that you were in the woods, I was worried. I’d never wanted harm to come to you or your family. I never saw a single scrap of cloth you said you left behind, but I knew where you’d be. I prayed for help, and He led me here.”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Anna, smiling. “I, for one, am grateful you’re here.”

  “Can we have a song?” asked Jacob. “Then we can pray again.”

  “Let’s finish the prayer and then sing,” I said sternly. “We can sing half the night, if you want to.” I had been kneeling this entire time, and my legs had begun to ache, especially after all the walking we had done over the past two days. Jacob’s smile forced a reluctant one of my own.

  “That’s an idea,” he said happily.

  “Then being the oldest male, I should lead by example,” said Daniel. “Lord, our Father. Please guide us in all things, as we strive to do your will. Only through your grace was I able to find the missing Glick children, and, for that, I’m grateful. They are safe and well, although their dog has since passed. Bless us with your spirit in all that we do, and help us to return
safely home. Keep us from anger and resentment and pride and disobedience. Help us to better follow your teachings in all things and to practice forgiveness, especially with those who we feel have wronged us. Keep Thy hand over us at all times, while preparing us for eternal salvation. Amen.”

  “Amen,” we said, and I sat back, crossing my feet before me.

  “I want to sing!”

  “Oh, Jacob.” I sighed. “We will in a moment.”

  I had grown surprisingly weary then, feeling not only the weight of the day upon my shoulders, but Daniel’s words. He had confessed his past sin, and we had listened, although I continued to find him lacking. I did not want to feel this way, but it had been an ingrained habit, years in the making, and I did not know how to stop it. Daniel gazed at the fire, saying nothing, although he glanced my way often.

  Anna and I sat together, while the boys remained on the other side of the campfire. It wasn’t long before we began to sing, and the sound melodious and soothing, our voices merging surprisingly well. Daniel’s baritone was pleasing to the ears, and Anna sang like an angel, which was to be expected. When at last I closed my eyes, I felt secure and peaceful, knowing Daniel was with us now and he had a weapon. He would protect us and lead us home. For the first time in two days, I felt a measure of peace, and, although the ground was hard and uncomfortable, I knew I would sleep better.

  In the morning, as I lay with my hand beneath my head, listening to several noisy birdcalls, the conversation from the day before drifted through my mind. Daniel’s reciting of Our Father had made it clear he wanted forgiveness, although none of it excused his behavior. The incident remained entirely fresh in my mind, mostly because it had been shocking and traumatic. Living on a farm, I had seen my share of blood from slaughtered chickens and pigs. Animals sometimes suffered in sickness, until Dat put them down. Life was a continuing cycle of beginnings and endings, which none of us had control over, except for the way we treated one another. Animals were seldom cruel and vicious for sport, unlike what I had seen from humans.

  Needing to wash, I got to my feet, noting that Jacob slept still, his hat over his head. Anna lay away from me, snoring softly. Daniel was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered where he had gone. I trod softly through the dewy moisture that clung to the sparse patches of grass, working my way to the creek. The sun struggled to break through the thick canopy of branches, although the light grew incrementally. Kneeling by the water’s edge, I washed, scrubbing away a layer of dirt, which smelled like campfire. My hair had escaped in places, and, after I had cleaned my neck and arms as well as I could, I sat on the rocks and worked my fingers through the tresses, as they fell down my back, past my waist. I rarely I let my hair down, but I would try my best to secure it again, once the tangles had been taken care of.

  “Good morning,” said a voice behind me.

  I jumped slightly, not having heard his approach. “Good morning, Daniel.”

  “Might I sit with you?”

  “If you must.”

  He sighed heavily, disappointed with this statement. “You’ve beautiful hair.”

  A man would never see a woman’s hair like this unless they were married, but it could not be helped at the moment. “Thank you.” I sensed his appraisal, which forced me to work faster, wanting to fix my hair and wear my kapp as soon as possible. I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he met my stare. There was something in his look; it was filled with an equal measure of regret and interest. “I want to thank you for finding us.”

  “But you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Goodness, this again?

  “You can barely tolerate me.”

  My fingers deftly unknotted several tangles. “You said you would send Oliver a letter. You would apologize. That’s all I ask, but I don’t ask it for myself. I ask it for you. Once you’ve atoned for the things you’ve done, you’ll have a fresh start.”

  “I had a fresh start at my baptism. My conscience was already cleared. It seems you need the fresh start.”

  “I need to know you feel badly for what you did.”

  “I feel bad. I felt bad the moment I did it.” He wrapped his arms around his knees; his pants looked dirty about the hem. “There were others there, you know. It wasn’t just me, although it’s not an excuse.”

  “I know. I recall it was Sam Landis and Mark Hurst.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your good friends.”

  “We were young and stupid, Rebekah. Children do cruel things for reasons that make no sense.”

  “You were thirteen. That’s not a child.”

  “No, but I was young in my mind. I’d not had the maturity I needed to make a better choice. I was swayed by what the group wanted to do.” His expression was stark. “I feel terrible for Oliver, for his entire family. There was something wrong with them, with his life. I regret I made it worse. School was probably a haven for that poor child.”

  “The father was often too weak to work his fields. They never had enough to eat.”

  “We all did what we could for them, even my Dat helped farm his land. I helped as well. I wasn’t always just mean and cruel. It was one bad day. One unfortunate day, where several boys made a mistake.”

  I wound my hair into a bun, securing it with pins. “All right.”

  “All right what?”

  After the kapp was in place, I turned to face him. His eyes roamed over my face, his look laced with regret and hope, which was a strange, yet intriguing combination. Something thudded in my chest then, an awareness of sorts—a connection to Daniel Stoltzfus I hadn’t perceived before. Was this sympathy? No. What was this?

  It was time to confess. “I’m sorry I harbored the resentment. I never really forgave you.”

  “I see.”

  “I forgive you now. I won’t mention it again. You said you spoke to the Bishops, and you said you’d write Oliver a letter. That’s all that can be done. Everyone make mistakes.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “Thank you, Rebekah.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you really keep the flowers?”

  I sucked in a breath. “I … I … might’ve.”

  A slight grin played upon his face. “You’re not as indifferent then.”

  “Pardon?”

  “There might be a chance for us after all.”

  “A chance for what?”

  “That you might say yes, if I asked to court you again.”

  Courting was a precursor for marriage, and I did not want to encourage him on that score. “We’re not suited like that.”

  This surprised him, as he released his knees, sitting up. “Why do you say that?”

  “We’ve nothing in common.”

  “If you would talk to me more often, perhaps we could find things in common. You’ve done nothing but avoid me for years. We live on the same road, and you cross the lane to walk on the other side whenever you see me. Am I that disgusting?”

  “No,” I murmured.

  He held out his hand. “Can we be friends?”

  I glanced at the hand, noting his wrists were twice the size of mine, the fingers long and tapered. “I suppose, if you want.” Placing my hand in his, I meant to give him a fast shake, but he gripped me firmly. Startled, I stared at him, wondering how peculiar it felt that a burst of tingles now traveled the length of my arm.

  “Ich bete dich an.”

  He said he adored me, but I remained mute, far too confused to make sense out of what had just happened. I slid my hand free, getting to my feet. “We should find food.” He closed the gap between us in an instant, brushing dirt from his pants. Then his gaze drifted over my face, skimming my hair and then back again. The slight smile that toyed around the edges of his mouth left me with the distinct impression that he liked what he saw. I had somehow encouraged him, but this could not go on. “Don’t look at me like that, Daniel Stoltzfus.” His smile faded, but his eyes sparkled; the irises brown with golden flecks around the edges. �
�Food. We need food.” I strode away from him, but he followed closely, my skin prickling with this awareness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daniel had brought flint and a pocketknife, which he used to start the fire. It was substantially faster than Jacob rubbing sticks together. It blazed warmly, while Anna began to stir, yawning and gazing up at the trees. We had put the bucket on, waiting for the water to boil.

  “Good morning,” she said softly.

  “Morning.”

  “I slept so well. I almost can’t believe it.” She grimaced. “But my back’s sore.”

  “I have a permanent crick in my neck, but I’ll live.”

  I had picked berries with Daniel earlier, finding more mushrooms and foraging for beechnuts, removing the shells with his knife. They lay on a flattened rock within the fire, the aroma of roasting nuts filling the air.

  “Something smells divine.”

  “Beechnuts.”

  “Oh, that’s promising. I’m terribly hungry.”

  My belly had been rumbling since I woke. “Me too.”

  “We’ll be at the house later today.” She sat up, gazing at me. “You’ve done your hair. It looks nice and tidy.”

  “I need a bath. I can’t wait to go home. I enjoy nature as much as the next person, but I’ve had enough.”

  “You’ve done well. We all have. We’re still alive.” She glanced at Daniel, who sat nearby sharpening the end of a stick. Surely he listened to the conversation, as we were all around the fire. Jacob slept still. “Have you said prayers yet?”

  “No, we were waiting for you and Jacob to wake and the food to cook. We can’t eat the nuts without roasting them. They’ll give us a bellyache raw.”

  “Oh.” She got to her feet, brushing dirt from her dress, although it made little difference, as the material looked shredded and stained. “I’ll be back in a moment. Then we should wake Jacob. We must be going soon.”

  “We’re walking for miles. We need sustenance.”

  She nodded. “I know.” The berries lay in clusters upon several leaves. “You’ve been busy. You should’ve woken me. I could have helped.”