Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

“Datt!” I looked around, but there was no one in sight. “Jacob! I found them!”

The next thing I knew the ground collapsed beneath my feet. One moment I was standing on the edge of the cliff in knee-high grass, the next it crumbled beneath me. I made a wild grab for solid ground, but I wasn’t quick enough. Dirt and grass flew at my face as I tumbled down the cliffside. Mud found its way into my mouth and eyes. Sapling trees punched me, their spindly branches tearing at my clothes and kapp. Then I plunged into the churning, ice-cold water, stinking of mud and fish and rotting foliage. My knee scraped the gravel bottom. The world went silent. Water in my eyes and ears and nose.

The current tumbled me end over end. Cold fists punching. I inhaled water and began to choke. Panic jetted through me. I kicked and my face broke the surface. I caught a glimpse of treetops and sky. A tree slammed into my shoulder, spun me around. Something scraped my leg. A tree root protruding from the bank banged into me. I grabbed for it, but the current ripped it from my grasp.

My feet lost purchase as I entered deeper water. A hard rush of panic clutched at me.

“Katie!”

I looked up, water streaming into my eyes. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Joseph King running along the bank, arms pumping, eyes on me. He hurdled a fallen trunk. Hands tearing through brush.

“Swim to the bank!” he shouted. “Go with the current! Don’t fight it! Let it carry you!”

I barely heard him over the roar of water. I floundered, my dress tangling around my legs, catching on submerged branches and roots. Water washed over my face. I sucked in a mouthful, choked it out. The current dragged me over a rock, knocking hard against my shin.

Please God. I don’t want to drown.

I clawed toward the bank. I lost sight of Joseph.

“Here!”

I looked over my shoulder. He was just a few feet away, standing in water to his waist, hand outstretched. “Come on! Swim! You’re a fish, remember?”

His name tore from my throat. “I can’t!” But I did. I swam as I’d never swum before, kicking, kicking.

Then my hand was in his. Fingers grasping my arm, strong and warm and safe. “I got you.”

He hauled me from the water, my knees and the tops of my feet scraping gravel and rock. He tripped over a large rock and landed on his behind. The water tried to take me again, but I crawled toward him, grabbed on to his pants leg. I lay there, facedown in the gravel and rocks, choking and gagging and trying not to cry.

I wake with a start, the smell of creek water and mud in my nostrils. The warmth of Joseph’s hand closing over mine. The knowledge that I’m not going to drown warming me from the inside out.

“Kate. Hey. Wake up.”

I open my eyes to see Tomasetti gazing down at me. “You okay?”

I push myself to a sitting position, shove the hair from my eyes, half expecting it to be wet, and I try to get my bearings. It’s still dark outside. I glance at the alarm clock to see it’s not yet five A.M.

“Sorry I woke you,” I say, but my voice is hoarse.

“Must have been a bad one.”

“It was … vivid.”

The back of my neck and my T-shirt are damp with sweat. I’m still breathing hard, so I make an effort to dial it down. When I let out a breath, it shudders. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Stop apologizing.”

I toss him a smile, grateful he’s there. “Yes, sir.”

He scoots back, props himself against the headboard. “You want to talk?”

Taking a fortifying breath, I relay the events of that long-ago day. “I hadn’t thought of it in years. Looking back as an adult, I honestly don’t know if I would have made it out of that creek if it hadn’t been for Joseph.”

“He saved your life?”

“I think so. But … we were so young … we didn’t know anything. Tomasetti, we didn’t know what a momentous act it was. We didn’t realize it was a big deal. We didn’t even tell anyone it had happened.” I laugh. “I think we were more worried about the cow and calf.”

“Did you get them out?”

“We did.”

“So it had a happy ending.”

Smiling, I snuggle against him and my nerves begin to smooth out. I set my head against his shoulder and listen to the slow and steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Just so you know,” he says after a moment, “my opinion of Joseph King just went up a couple of notches.”

Even though I’m still shaken from the dream, I chuckle. “That’s something.”

Leaning closer, he kisses my temple. “I’m sorry for what happened, Kate. I know you cared for him. I know it hurts that things played out the way they did.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“If it’s any consolation, I believe Ryan and Scanlon did the best they could.”

“I know. I just … I wish they’d listened to me. I knew King. I knew the good side of him. There was a possibility I could’ve talked him down or defused the situation. Tomasetti, they wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I know.” He hugs me against him. A beat of silence and then he asks, “Did you love him?”

The question makes me smile. “I’m not sure that’s the right word. I mean, I had no concept of love when I was thirteen years old. Puppy love, maybe.”

“When you’re that age puppy love doesn’t feel like puppy love.”

“Tomasetti, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“Should I be? I mean, there was that kiss…”

I elbow him. “There was no kiss.”

For the span of several minutes we lie against each other. Then Tomasetti says, “Look, I may not agree with what you’re doing. I don’t have as much faith in Joseph King as you do. But will you let me know if you need help? I may not have what it takes to save your favorite cow, but I have resources.”

We both fall into laughter and I put the moment to memory, knowing it’s precious, a snapshot in time that will stay with me the rest of my life.

“Have I told you I love you recently?” I ask.

“Not recently,” he says.

“Well, I do.”

“In that case…” Setting his hands on either side of my face, he lowers his mouth to mine.





CHAPTER 18

The graabhof lies on a stretch of road lined with quaint farms southeast of Burton, Ohio. It’s a small cemetery filled with neat rows of plain headstones and surrounded by a three-rail wood fence. A solitary maple tree stands sentinel on the left side of the entrance gate. It’s a bucolic scene made all the more melancholy because of its beauty.

The Amish generally turn out in droves when a member of their community passes away, sometimes traveling for miles to pay their final respects. Usually, there’s a funeral service at the home of the family. The minister or bishop will give a sermon that oftentimes includes some type of moral lecture. There’s no singing, but Bible passages are recited and at the end of the service an obituary is read, usually in Deitsch.