Amish Rescue. Debby Giusti

his journey and take the longer route that would circumvent this place of pain.

      Joachim squared his shoulders, refusing to cower. He needed to face the past to heal. He felt sure that was the advice the bishop would provide when and if he sought to return fully to his Amish faith.

      As he turned his gaze to the intersection ahead, Joachim’s chest constricted. The morning sunlight filtered through the gray sky overhead, yet for a moment, he stepped back in time as the memory of that night assailed him. He heard the rhythmic clip-clop of horses’ hooves against the pavement and the creak of the two buggies as they strained along the ill-fated path.

      In his mind’s eyes, he saw Eli turn and laugh at Joachim, who followed close behind in the second buggy. The ongoing competition between the two brothers had taken a tragic turn that night.

      At eighteen, Joachim should have known better than to go along with the seemingly innocent challenge. He did not blame his brother. Nor had his datt blamed Eli. Instead, his father had blamed Joachim.

      Once again, he remembered how Eli had egged him on, ignoring the roar of the oncoming vehicle and the headlights speeding too fast.

      Joachim had raised his voice in warning. “A car approaches on the road.” But Eli had not heard and had not reacted.

      The crash of metal and splintering wood echoed in Joachim’s memory, along with the horrific cry that had come from his own throat as he screamed his brother’s name.

      Five years had passed, yet Joachim’s grief was still so raw. “Gott, forgive me,” he whispered as he hurried Belle through the intersection.

      Perhaps coming home to the mountains had been a mistake. What had happened could not be undone. No matter how Joachim tried to reconcile the past.

      He needed longer to decide if he was ready to contact his father. Work would help. Using his hands and carpentry skills to transform disrepair into integrity would allow him to see more clearly. If he could hole up somewhere, he might be able to stem the figurative bleeding of his wounded heart and come to terms with his future and the way he wanted to live his life.

      Belle flicked her head.

      “You want to go home, girl. I know. But I need more time.”

      The turnoff to the old Thomin homestead appeared in the distance. The house had needed work five years ago. If Hazel Thomin were still alive, the elderly lady might hire Joachim to do odd jobs around the property while he tried to decide how he was going to piece his life together.

      He pulled back on the reins to slow Belle’s pace, then nudged the mare onto the path that led to the grand home. The property had been in Mrs. Thomin’s family for generations, but what he saw made his spirits plummet even more. The house that had been regal in its day—some called it a mansion—now appeared wasted from neglect.

      Joachim grimaced, noting the peeling paint and the sagging facade. The stately beauty had come under hard times and was in need of a steady hand that could restore her original beauty as well as her once-sturdy understructure.

      He guided the buggy toward the front of the house and glanced up to see a young woman near Joachim’s age peering from a second-story window. Blond hair hung around her slender face. She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment. His chest tightened in response to the need he recognized, even at this distance, in her pensive gaze. Before he could acknowledge her presence, she stepped away, leaving him confused by the tangle of emotion that wrapped around his heart.

      Joachim pulled the horse to a stop and jumped to the ground as the front door opened. Victor Thomin stepped outside, coffee mug in hand. Tall and skinny with unkempt red hair, Hazel Thomin’s only child had not improved in looks—or, it seemed, in temperament—over the last five years.

      With a surly grunt, Victor raised the mug to his lips and drank deeply, his beady eyes intent on Joachim, even as he wiped the back of his hand over his thin lips. A cut festered that had spattered his knuckles with dried blood.

      Recalling the baleful glance of the woman at the window, Joachim made a connection that caused his eyes to widen in horror—though he immediately reminded himself that it could be wild speculation and not credible in the least. He had no proof of abuse, yet Joachim could not and would not ignore his instincts. Victor had been a scoundrel in his youth, and from the downward pull on his drawn lips, there was no reason to think he had changed.

      Extending his hand, Joachim introduced himself. Instinctively, he knew from Victor’s menacing expression that the red-haired man had failed to recognize him.

      Victor reluctantly accepted the handshake. “Is there something you want?”

      “I’m looking for work.” Joachim glanced again at the overhead window, feeling a sense of loss at finding it empty. “Carpentry, painting or any handyman jobs you might need done. I can provide references.”

      Victor pursed his lips. “You’re from around here?”

      Joachim would not lie, but he saw no reason to provide more than a minimum of information. “I worked in North Carolina for a number of years. Folks said there might be jobs in this area of North Georgia.”

      He studied the once-beautiful home, pausing to gaze at each window, hoping for another sign of the illusive woman. “Looks like they were right. Your house could use a bit of upkeep.”

      Victor shrugged. “I doubt this old place is worth the effort.”

      “A few repairs will make a big difference,” Joachim assured him. He touched the dry rot around the front door and peered inside the house through the sidelight. His heart skittered in his chest.

      The woman he had seen moments earlier now stood poised on the landing. She raised her index finger to her lips as if pleading for him to remain silent about her whereabouts. The furtive look on her oval face made him even more concerned about her wellbeing.

      Joachim turned back to Victor. “I can do as little or as much as you want. But you should know that the value of your property would improve with the repairs, in case you decide to sell any time soon.”

      Victor arched a brow. Seemingly, the mention of financial gain brought interest. “You think I could find a buyer?”

      Joachim nodded. “Yah, if you are willing to fix some of the problems.”

      “I’ve got rot around the back porch, too,” Victor volunteered. “Plus, the kitchen door is warped and won’t close easily.”

      “Let me have a look,” Joachim suggested. He motioned Victor to take the lead and then glanced again into the house. The woman had disappeared.

      Joachim sighed at his own foolishness. He knew better than to play hide-and-seek with an Englisch woman. He needed employment, not involvement in a domestic dispute. Although she and Victor seemed an unlikely match. Perhaps she was a caregiver for his mother. Still, something did not seem right. Whether she was there as an employee, a spouse or a guest...no woman should look so afraid.

      After rounding the house, Joachim climbed to the back porch. Quickly he inspected the sagging roof and rotting soffits, trying to get his mind off the woman who continued to tug at his heart.

      His gaze turned to the kitchen window. He stepped closer in pretense of examining the sill, all the while peering through the glass, searching the kitchen and hallway beyond for some sign of the woman.

      Victor stood to the side. “If I do hire you,” he warned, scratching his chin, “I won’t stand for laziness or slipshod work.”

      Movement caught Joachim’s eye. Something or someone hurried across the entrance hallway to the front door.

      “I understand your concern, but you will not find me to be lazy or my work slipshod,” Joachim said, hoping to keep Victor’s attention on the disrepair instead of what was happening inside the house.

      Feeling the need to provide a distraction, Joachim tapped the sill and pushed on the wood before moving to the next window and repeating his