Thrown to the Wolves (The Faith in Peril Trilogy) Page 5

  “That’s enough,” said Anna. “We walk then. We’ll call the dog every five minutes, all right? I agree with you, Rebekah. There’ll be a way out somewhere. There’ll be a road we can follow.”

  “I’m happy to make a fire, if we stay,” offered Jacob. “If we go further, we might be lost even worse. Molly will find us when she’s finished sniffing out rabbits.”

  “No. We walk,” I said. “I’m not sleeping here.”

  “But which way do we go?” asked Jacob. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “We just go forward. I’m sure we came this way. We’ll be at the house within ten minutes. We won’t even miss evening prayers.” I strode on ahead, but my foot snagged a branch, nearly throwing me down. “Darn, my eyes! It’s so dark.”

  “Please be careful,” said Anna. “Feel your way, if you must.”

  “I’ll lead.” Jacob brushed by me. “I know where I’m going.”

  I could barely see him. “That’s just rich.” I was thoroughly annoyed. “Molly!” I shouted.

  We managed a single file, wandering in the direction we thought was our home, although I had my doubts. At some point during the walk earlier, before we had spotted the animal carcass, we must have diverged from the straightforward direction we had been traveling in. We had left the path, and I had assumed we followed the way straight, but this must not have been the case. We had curved in one direction or another, enough to throw us off completely. Now that darkness was here, it would be impossible to get our bearings. The dog helped little in this matter, because she was nowhere to be seen.

  Anna began singing, “Jesus Liebt die Kleine Kinder”, which I had learned as a child. Jacob joined her, and I too sang, because the melody brought me a measure of comfort, alleviating some of the dread I felt, although its affects continued to linger.

  Jacob’s voice rang out, “Jesus loves the little children. All the children of the world: Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

  We tramped on through the darkness, sometimes feeling our way around trees, while our feet crunched over twigs and leaves. Being August, it wasn’t unpleasant, although the humidity had left me perspiring; my underarms felt damp. I enjoyed a walk in nature as much as anyone. Dat would sometimes take us for long hikes on the Sundays when we did not have church, but he had always carried a weapon, a rifle, to use in case of trouble. Mam would pack a lunch, and we would each carry a jug of water, enjoying the peacefulness of the afternoon by the creek. But this was different. We hadn’t brought food or water and we did not have a weapon. We had also lost our dog.

  “MOLLY!” shouted Anna. “Oh, that stupid animal.”

  “That was golly good fun,” said Jacob. “Shall we sing, ‘Ich habe ein Freund?’”

  “You may start it, if you wish,” I said sourly. Something pulled at the bottom of my dress, the material snagging on a prickly bush. I wore stockings, which protected my legs, but my feet had dampened from walking upon wet ground. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Me too,” said Anna. “If we’re going to walk like this, we should try to find water.”

  I laughed bitterly, “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Listen to it trickling.”

  “All I hear are my own feet.”

  Jacob began to sing, his clear voice ringing out. I joined him then, while Anna remained quiet. I did not know what she thought about, but I could guess. We had wandered into a dangerous predicament, having lost ourselves in the woods. It would take a great deal of prayer to right this situation. She eventually sang as well, her even tone a thing of beauty. I adored listening to Anna. Her voice carried some distance, sounding angelic.

  That stupid dog hears us. I know she does. Where are you, Molly?

  We had gone on for some time before Anna said, “Let’s stop for a rest. I’m tired.”

  “I’m not,” said Jacob. “I could do this all night.” He had thoroughly enjoyed the excursion by the sound of it.

  I stopped walking, placing my hands on my hips. “We can sit for a while.” The moon shone overhead, its diffused light filtering down through the leaves. I made the mistake of looking up, at the way the branches hung, nearly touching us. The knotted, curving boughs took on a sinister quality, as if reaching out to grasp me. I sat quickly, hating the renewed sense of uneasiness I felt. Anna remained nearby, but I could barely see her. “Where is that dog?”

  “I don't know.” She sounded miserable.

  “How much longer will we have to walk?”

  “I thought we’d come out already. I prayed for a road. I wish nothing more than a farmhouse, even if they are strangers, anything but this. They would take us in.”

  “There are no houses. There’s … nothing.” An owl hooted, making me jump. “Goodness! He’s over our heads.” I glanced upwards, seeing little but dark branches.

  “They love to eat mice,” said Jacob. “Do you think Molly found a rabbit?”

  “I’ll strangle that dog,” I muttered.

  “Molly!” hollered Jacob. “You naughty girl! Come back at once!”

  I had found a broad trunk to lean against, the bark rough at my back. “What will we do now? Shall we keep walking?”

  “Yes. I want to find a road. I want a way out.”

  “You girls are foolish. We should’ve stayed where we were and made a fire. There’s no telling how far we’ve gone now. Lord only knows where we are.”

  My fingers closed around a small rock, and, before I could stop myself, I threw it at Jacob, although it missed its mark. I felt furious at that moment, utterly enraged, and I wanted to blame someone—anyone.

  “What was that?” he asked. “Who threw that?”

  “Just shut up!” I hissed.

  “Rebekah, stop that.” Anna scooted towards me. “It’s not his fault.”

  “Yes it is! He ran into the woods. We should’ve left him. I hate this! I don’t want to be here.” Her arms went around me. Tears threatened in earnest now, because we would be in the woods all night. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Try not to lose yourself to anger. Don’t blame Jacob either. We’re all in this together. We all share the blame.”

  “I don't want to hear your words of wisdom. They won’t make me feel any better. They won’t quench my thirst or provide a shelter. We’re good and lost, and we’re going to be here all night.”

  “There are worse things, Rebekah. We’re healthy and fed. We’ve no cause for complaints. So we might sleep on the ground, but at least we have each other.”

  “I want my comfortable bed. I want hot chocolate.” I knew I sounded petulant, but I did not care. “I want Mam.”

  “I do too.”

  “Hot chocolate sounds divine,” said Jacob.

  “What will we do now?” I asked.

  “We can rest and then continue.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” said Jacob. “We should make camp.”

  I leaned into Anna, murmuring, “I’m tired of walking.”

  “Maybe we should stay here.”

  “Where will we sleep? We’ve no blankets or anything to protect us from the ground.”

  “One night of discomfort isn’t the end of the world.”

  Tears fell from my eyes, a deluge of wetness I could not control. “I can’t believe this!”

  “Our ancestors suffered worse. They were persecuted for their beliefs and burned at the stake. Eighteen people died in Salzburg in 1528. You’ve seen the illustration in Martyrs Mirror. You know what I’m talking about. This is hardly as bad as that. We must accept that we’re lost and make the best of it.”

  She was right, but it did not ease the growing sense of hysteria that plagued me. “I’ll try, Anna, I’ll try.” Something moved in the bushes near us, the branches rustling. “What was that?” A renewed sense of fear had me reaching for my sister, who held onto my arms with a firm grip. “Did you hear that?”

  We waited in the silence; even the crickets h
ad quieted. “I don’t know.”

  Something rushed towards us then, bursting free of the foliage, but in the dimness, I could not tell what it was. I screamed, not being able to help myself. I wasn’t the only one. Jacob and Anna shouted too, as something—some creature had arrived.

  Chapter Five

  “Molly!” cried Anna. “You naughty dog! Where have you been?”

  My heart hammered in my chest, as the dog danced around in front of us, oblivious to our suffering. She rubbed against me, licking my hand. “You show us the way home, girl. Let’s go home.”

  “I’m so happy!” said Anna. “We’ll be home in time for prayers after all.”

  “And hot chocolate,” said Jacob. “I’m ready to go now.” Something crunched, twigs snapping. His boots had made the sound. “Come along, girl. You be a good girl and take us home.”

  I sighed with relief, following my brother and sister, who had gone before me. “Oh, that dog! She thinks it’s all fun and games. She’s been having a marvelous time, while we’ve been worried stiff.”

  “I hope she doesn’t go too far ahead,” said Anna. “Molly!” The dog bounded back, her paws crunching leaves. “There you are. You’re staying with us now. We’re going home.”

  I could barely see my sister although she stood before me. “This has been an adventure, but I hate the woods. I only want to come here again, if Dat’s with us, and he brings a rifle.”

  “We’ll tell them all about our adventure and the dead fox,” said Jacob.

  “That wasn’t a fox,” I said. “Foxes are smaller. That was a wolf.”

  Molly bounded ahead, but returned quickly, which was a comfort. I felt better with her, knowing that her keen sense of smell would be a benefit. She would lead us home. The dog possessed boundless energy: jumping, running, and sniffing. I could hear her in the foliage nearby. We trod on through the gloom, the branches and leaves hanging over our heads, some touching my kapp. I felt certain we would emerge within moments, the lights of our farmhouse glowing in the distance, but this failed to happen, and we continued on.

  Jacob, happy to have his pet by his side, began singing again, this time, “Gott ist die Liebe”, which we all joined in on.

  We set our worries aside, feeling relieved and jovial, because Molly would lead us to safety. We continued through the forest, moving in the direction of our home, but my thoughts began to wander, images of the morning reappearing. I hadn’t told Anna that I had pressed Daniel’s flowers in a book. It would be my secret. They were far too pretty to let wilt and be trampled on by muddy boots. Those blooms would be preserved forever, flattened and lovely.

  I wasn’t as frightened now, with Molly by our side, darting back and forth, and settling in nicely. The way seemed easier with less branches underfoot to trip over. Perhaps we had finally found the path that would lead to the creek. The noise of the singing, made it impossible to hear anything else, but it did not matter. We would soon be home.

  On and on the walk went, and it felt as if we now descended, my knees adjusting to the difference. I remembered the walk to be level, with no noticeable changes in elevation. I thought to say something about this, but Anna and Jacob sang so happily. It would be a shame to disturb them with my concerns. Molly stayed with us, although she now remained exclusively by Jacob’s side. Ten minutes later, the descent began in earnest, and I was forced to say something.

  “This isn’t right.”

  “What?” asked Anna.

  “Stop!” My hands went to my hips. “We never walked uphill. Why are we going down? This isn’t the way.”

  “Oh, goodness, Rebekah, but you’re right. We’ve been going downhill for a while.”

  All the fear from a short while ago returned with a vengeance, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. “That stupid dog! She thinks we’re still on a stroll! She’s not taking us home at all. In fact, I reckon to say, she’s led us in the entirely wrong direction. We have to go back!” I turned around, seeing nothing but the outline of shadows, the dark monoliths of trees. “We have to go back the way we came.”

  “Molly, no,” breathed Anna. “Oh, this is terrible. Why did we even follow her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going back.”

  “We’re truly lost now,” said Anna.

  “I told you we should’ve stayed where we were and made camp,” said Jacob. “I could’ve had a toasty fire blazing by now. I can rub two sticks together. I know what I’m doing.”

  I wasn’t going to listen to him, having begun the trek back up the hill. “Come along. We’re going back.” The dog bounded forward, passing me. “You were supposed to help us find the way home! Go home, Molly! Go home!” We forged onward, but the uphill walk tired me. It seemed that an hour or so drifted by, but I could not be certain. The elevation had leveled again. “We have to be close now. We have to.”

  “I’m thirsty,” said Jacob.

  “Do you hear any water?” asked Anna. “Can we stop for a moment? I’d like to listen for a creek.”

  Something buzzed near my ear, and I slapped my kapp. “Ugh.” I had stopped, while tiredness settled upon me, my spirit flattening. “Fine. You try to find water. Good luck. We have to boil everything. We can’t drink it from the source or we’ll get sick.”

  “Where did Molly go?” asked Jacob. “She’s not here anymore.”

  “Let’s listen for her,” said Anna. “Shush, and maybe you’ll hear something.”

  We stood together beneath the trees, not speaking for a long while. I heard nothing other than crickets and the annoying buzz of a mosquito. “She’s gone again.”

  “We need to make a decision,” said Anna. “We can’t keep walking all night. We need to find a flat, dry place and make a shelter.”

  “I can do the fire,” said Jacob. “You choose the spot, and I’ll get to work.”

  I had hoped we would be able to find our house tonight. I had placed all my trust in a dog, and she had let me down. “I think that’s all we can do now, until morning. Mam and Dat will be beside themselves. I’m sure they’re wondering where we are.”

  “They’ll come looking for us in the morning,” said Anna. “They’ll fire a few shots, and we can follow the sound.”

  That seemed reasonable. “Yes.”

  “We can survive one night in the forest. Think of it as an adventure. Jacob can make a fire, and we’ll try to find some leaves to sleep on.”

  “You forget one thing,” I said, hating the sound of defeat in my voice. “We can’t see a single thing. It’s pitch black.”

  “We’ll learn to feel our way around.”

  “And then we’ll itch all night from some poisonous plant.”

  “That will happen anyhow.”

  Twigs snapped, as Anna began to walk. “Come now. Let’s find a safe place to sit.”

  The search for a shelter far exceeded a few minutes, because place after place was deemed less than ideal. I had grown even more tired; my feet felt like lead blocks, heavy and cumbersome. I tripped over everything in my path. Molly bounded towards us again a while later, but I was far too tired to acknowledge her. We eventually settled on a spot that seemed dryer than the others, the ground clear, save for leaves.

  “This will have to do,” said Anna. “It’s all we can hope for at the moment.”

  I walked back and forth, my feet feeling nothing but dirt. “Yes. It’s flat. I can’t see a thing, but it feels somewhat level.”

  “I’m off to get firewood,” declared Jacob.

  “Where are you going?” Losing him terrified me. “You can’t wander far. You must be within speaking distance.”

  “If you keep talking, I’ll know where you are. I’ll circle the camp and find wood. It’s going to be fine, Rebekah. I’ll take care of everything. I’m the only man here, after all.” And this had been spoken from a five-year-old.

  “All right, Jacob.” I shook my head, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. “You do that.” I could barely see my sister in the darkn
ess. “What time do you think it is?”

  “Later than we assume.”

  She had confirmed one of my fears. “Why do you say that?”

  “We’ve been walking for hours. I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but it’s been that long.”

  “We’ve more than likely gone in one big circle.”

  “Yes.”

  An idea struck. “Oh! We’re so stupid. We should’ve ripped our dresses and tied them to the branches. If someone comes looking for us, they could’ve followed the path.”

  “We can do that tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that before? Dat and David won’t know where we are. We left nothing behind.”

  “They’ll shoot their rifles. I fully expect to hear gunfire in the morning. They’ll come and find us. Please don't fret, Rebekah. I can hear the fear in your voice. We must do whatever we can to stay calm.”

  “Easy for you to say! You love the woods. You adore scampering around and getting lost. I hate it! I’ve never liked this sort of thing. Being out here is far more dangerous than we imagine. I have a dreadful feeling about this. What if Dat can’t find us? What if we—”

  “Calm yourself!” Hands gripped my shoulders. “Take a deep breath, Rebekah. Breathe … deep … in and out. That’s better. Now we’ll say a prayer, because Molly is no longer our guide. Our Heavenly Father has always been the guide, and He will lead us from the forest. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  “Then we shall pray now. I’ll say it. Our Lord, our savior. Please watch over us and protect us, as you do every day. Please help us find shelter and water and safe passage through the woods. Take our fear away and—”

  “I’ve found water!” called Jacob. “Come look!”

  “Very well then,” said Anna. “This concludes the prayer for now. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  She let go of me. “We’ll pray again before bed. That should keep us for a while, but we’ll need more to fortify us through the night.”

  “I don't want to go to Jacob. May I stay here?” I sounded like a frightened child, but I couldn’t help it.