CHAPTER 3
I long for my police radio, as Tomasetti and I head east toward the Maple Crest subdivision. Drizzle floats down from a granite sky, smudging the trees and fields into a gothic, impressionist-style painting. The storm that brought the tornado is already past and heading northeast toward Geauga County, where new tornado warnings have been posted.
I’ve pulled up the weather radar on Tomasetti’s phone. The storm track shows the twister plowed a path from southwest to northeast. Most of the affected area was rural, but I know there are farmhouses and barns at risk. As the storm approached Painters Mill, it veered north and gobbled up half of the mobile home park. It then lifted briefly and touched down a second time on top of the subdivision. The homes are sturdier there—brick and stucco, mostly—and while I anticipate plenty of damage, I don’t think it will be as bad as Willow Bend.
We’ve just turned onto Dogleg Road, when I spot a lone figure ahead, walking toward us on the gravel shoulder.
“What the hell?” Tomasetti pulls over several yards from the man.
He’s wearing trousers and a long-sleeve shirt with one of the sleeves torn off at the shoulder. His clothes are soaked and muddy. As he draws closer I notice the suspenders hanging at his sides. No hat. No jacket. One boot on his left foot; the other is bare. The only indication that he’s Amish is the long beard. Though I’m certain he sees the Tahoe, he doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t acknowledge us. It’s as if he doesn’t even see us.
“Looks like he’s in shock,” Tomasetti says.
“I’m going to make sure he’s all right.” I’ve got the door open before we’ve come to a complete stop. Then I’m out of the truck. Rain soft and cold on my face. I can hear the ducks in the pond on the other side of a falling-down fence. The tinkle of the drizzle against the water’s surface.
I keep my eyes on the man ahead. But I’m aware of Tomasetti sliding from the truck. The slam of his door as he leaves it to follow me.
“Sir?” I call out. “I’m a police officer. Are you all right?”
The man stops and looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. His face is streaked with mud. The missing shirtsleeve reveals the pasty flesh of an arm that’s covered with mud and specks of vegetation. His shirt is shredded, pasted to his body by rain and mud. He’s visibly shivering. His beard is clotted with vegetation, flecks of dead grass, and mud.
His eyes peer at me from a pale face smeared with mud. “Ich sayya Gott,” he whispers. I saw God.
“Are you injured?” I stop a couple of feet away. “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”
He shakes his head. “Ich bin zimmlich gut.” I’m pretty good.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Samuel Miller.”
Tomasetti comes up beside me. “What are you doing out here all by yourself without a buggy?”
He looks at Tomasetti, then motions in the direction he was walking. “I was delivering straw to Big Joe Beiler’s place. That old mare of his is about to foal.”
I look past him, but there’s no sign of a wagon. Or a horse. “Where’s your wagon?”
“Wind caught it just right. Turned it over. The straw got dumped.”
“Is there anyone else with you?” I ask.
“Just me.”
“Your horse okay?”
“Sellah gaul is goot.” The horse is good. “Spooked. She ran home, like they always do, and left me to walk.” He grins. “Just like a female.”
“I think you should get yourself checked out at the hospital, Mr. Miller,” I tell him. “Maybe you hit your head when the wagon overturned. I’m happy to take you.”
The Amish man thinks about that a moment. “My head is fine. But I’d like to check on my family and make sure they’re all right.”
I touch his arm gently to get him started toward the Tahoe; all the while I look for signs of injury or confusion. “Where’s your farm, Mr. Miller?”
“A mile or so down the road.”
“The worst of the storm missed your house,” I tell him. “I think you’ll find your family just fine.”
“I guess it wasn’t my day to be called to heaven,” he says.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t give him a choice about a trip to the ER; I’d take him directly to the hospital despite his objections. Today, however, with Pomerene Hospital undoubtedly flooded with casualties, I decide to comply with his wishes and take him home. I open the door of the Tahoe and he climbs inside.