Amish Safe House. Debby Giusti

the apartment in Philly.

       Kansas.

      Her heart sank. For a moment, she had hoped everything had been a dream.

      Rising from the bed, she slipped into her jeans and pulled on the sweater she had worn last night. Hunger nagged at her stomach and made her hurry that much faster down the stairs. She wanted the children to sleep in, at least until she’d had a cup of coffee.

      Another rap sounded at the kitchen door. She glanced out the window, relieved to see the tall Amish man standing on the porch. She raked her hair out of her face, twisted the lock and pulled open the door.

      Her breath hitched. She hadn’t realized how tall he was or how muscular. She pulled the sweater across her chest and took a step back, needing to distance herself from his bulk and his pensive eyes that stared down at her.

      He held out a large ceramic mug. “Coffee?”

      In his other hand, he held a jug of milk that he gave her. “There’s sugar in the kitchen. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

      “The children are still asleep.”

      “Wake them so they can eat.”

      “I wanted to let them sleep.”

      “Chores need to be done.”

      “Chores?”

      He nodded. “A farm does not run on its own. To eat, we must work.”

      She glanced around his broad chest and scanned the surrounding area. Horses grazed in a nearby pasture. Cattle waited at a feed trough in the distance.

      “Okay,” she said. “We’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

      “Gut.” He turned and headed back to his house.

      Julia inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee, added a dollop of milk and sighed with the first sip. Strong and hot, just the way she liked it.

      Turning back to the kitchen, she spied a wooden box and opened the lid, seeing the insulation and feeling the coolness. She bent to examine a trap door that she slid open to find a chunk of ice.

      “Who needs electricity?” She placed the milk in the aluminum-lined icebox and then tugged their suitcases upstairs. She rummaged through the contents until she found her toiletries.

      Using the water in the pitcher, she washed her face and hands and brushed her teeth, then pulled her hair into a knot at the base of her neck.

      Taking another sip of coffee, she knocked on William’s open door and stepped toward the bed. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

      She brushed her hand over his hair, wishing he could always be so calm and peaceful. “Abraham is fixing breakfast. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

      William opened one eye. “That big dude cooks?”

      Julia tried to squelch a smile. “That dude is named Abraham. I have a feeling he can do a lot of things, and it sounds as though if you miss breakfast, you won’t eat until lunch.”

      Both eyes opened. “Okay. I’m outta here.”

      “I put a clean shirt on the chair. There’s water in the pitcher. Pour it into the basin to wash your hands and face and brush your teeth.”

      “Rules, Mom. Too many.”

      No doubt their host would have more rules for them to follow.

      Kayla woke with a smile and hopped out of bed without needing to be told twice. She slipped into a fresh blouse and jeans and reached for her doll, tucked under the quilt. “I hope Mr. Abraham makes something good for breakfast. My tummy is hungry.”

      “Whatever he prepares will be appreciated, Kayla. Be sure to say please and thank you.”

      “I always remember even if Will doesn’t.”

      “You set a good example for your brother.”

      The child smiled as if they shared a secret. Julia brushed Kayla’s hair and helped her wash her face. “You look lovely.”

      Hand in hand, they headed downstairs, where William waited in the kitchen. “It’s weird, Mom.”

      “What is?”

      “The fridge looks like a box cooled with a big chunk of ice.”

      “That’s what it is, Will. An icebox. The Amish don’t use electricity.”

      “That’s crazy.”

      “Maybe to you, but many people enjoy the plain life as it’s called.”

      “Plain and stupid,” Will grumbled under his breath. Julia chose to ignore the remark as she pulled open the kitchen door and guided the children into the cool springtime morning.

      The musky smell of the rich soil and fresh air greeted them. She peered at the sun, which was peeking through an overcast sky. A crow cawed from the branches of a gnarled oak in the front yard. The irony wasn’t lost on her. For so long, she had yearned to live in the country where the air wasn’t stagnant with car exhaust and a crowd of buildings didn’t block the sun. Strange that her son being caught in the middle of a gang war would lead them to this remote Amish farm.

      Then she thought of the Philadores, who wouldn’t give up their search until they found William. Narrowing her gaze, she stared at the distant road where a pickup truck traveled well over the speed limit. Someone local, no doubt, yet instinctively, she put her arm around Will’s shoulder and pulled him close.

       God, if you’re listening, protect my child.

      He shrugged out of her hold just as the door to the nearby house opened and Abraham stepped onto the porch.

      “I had planned to ring the dinner bell to summon you,” he said, his voice warm with welcome. “Your timing is perfect. Breakfast is on the table.”

      Kayla ran ahead and climbed the stairs. “I’m hungry, Mr. Abraham.”

      “What about your dolly?” Abraham asked, eyeing the doll she clutched in her arm.

      Kayla smiled. “She’s hungry, too.”

      “Does she have a name?”

      “Marianne. My daddy gave her to me.”

      Abraham’s face clouded. He glanced at Julia, pain visible in his gaze.

      “Mr. Abraham might not want a doll at the breakfast table,” Julia said to ease his upset. Then, fearing they may have offended his faith, she added, “As I recall, Amish dolls don’t have faces, although I’m not sure why.”

      “It has to do with graven images, but only in certain communities.” Abraham held up his hand. “Having a doll with a face is not a problem here in Yoder.”

      He glanced down at Kayla and smiled. “If you do not mind, I will call your doll Annie.”

      The child shrugged. “That’s a pretty name, too.”

      “What do you and Annie usually eat for breakfast?” he asked.

      Kayla scrunched up her sweet face. “Mom makes us eat oatmeal.”

      “Does she?” He laughed, and the pain evaporated. “It appears from your expression that you do not like oatmeal.”

      “Oatmeal’s okay and it’s cheap. That’s why we eat it.”

      “Kayla May, you don’t need to bore Mr. King with our family’s financial situation.”

      He held the door open and motioned them inside.

      A man’s house. Sparse but tidy. Two wooden rockers sat near the wood-burning stove in the middle of the room. A long table with chairs on one side and a bench by the wall divided the kitchen from the living area. A hutch and sideboard sat in the