He had a lot to be thankful for. His children were healthy and happy; they kept his heart filled. The farm kept his hands busy and earned him a decent living. As Bishop Troyer had told him that first terrible week: The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Adam had just closed the barn door when his daughters ran down the sidewalk, their dresses swishing about their legs. They were bundled up with scarves and gloves, black winter bonnets covering their heads. This morning, they would surely need the afghan Leah had knitted to cover up with if they got cold.
“Samuel, help your sisters into the shlay,” Adam said.
As the children boarded, Adam looked around, assessing the weather. It had snowed most of the night, and it was still falling at a good clip. The wind had formed an enormous drift on the south side of the barn. Not too bad yet, but he knew there was another round of snow coming. By tonight, the temperature was supposed to drop into the single digits. The wind was going to pick up, too. According to his neighbor, Mr. Yoder, there was a blizzard on the way.
When the children were loaded—the girls in the backseat and Sammy next to him—Adam climbed in and picked up the lines. “Kumma druff!” he said to the horse. Come on there!
Big Jimmy might be a tad overweight and a smidgen past his prime, but he loved the cold and snow and this morning he came to life. Raising his head and tail, the animal pranced through snow that reached nearly to his knees, and within minutes the sled zoomed along the fence line on the north side of the property.
“Look at Jimmy go!” cried Annie, motioning toward the horse.
The sight of the old gelding warmed Adam’s heart. “I think he’s showing off.”
“We’re going to have to give him extra oats when we get home!” declared Lizzie.
“If Jimmy eats any more oats, we’re going to have to pull him in the sleigh,” Adam told her.
At the sound of the children’s laughter and the jangle of the harness, the bracing air against his face, Adam felt some of the weight on his shoulders lift. He took the sleigh north through the cornfield, the tops of the cut stalks nearly obscured by a foot or so of snow. The trees and branches sparkled white. As they passed by the woods, he pointed out the ten-point buck standing at the edge of the field. He showed them the flock of geese huddled on the icy pond where the water had long since frozen over. The beauty of the Ohio countryside never ceased to boost his spirits, especially this morning with the falling snow and the sound of his children’s laughter in his ears.
On the north side of the property, he turned right at the fence line and headed east toward Painters Creek. It was too cold for them to stay out long. Everyone had dressed warmly, but the wind cut right through the layers. Already his fingers and face burned with cold. Now that they’d moved past the tree line, he noticed the dark clouds moving in from the northwest. He’d take the sleigh to the county road and then cut south and go back toward the house. Maybe have some hot chocolate before afternoon chores, feeding the cows and hogs.
They’d only traveled another hundred yards when Adam noticed the hump of a vehicle in the ditch. The paint glinting through the layer of snow. It was an unusual sight on this stretch of back road. There weren’t many farms out this way and almost all of his neighbors were Amish. As they neared the vehicle, he slowed the horse to a walk.
“What’s that?” came Annie’s voice from the back of the sleigh.
“Looks like an Englischer car,” said Sammy.
“Maybe they got stuck in the snow,” Lizzie suggested.
“Whoa.” Adam stopped the sleigh and looked around.
For a moment the only sounds came from the puff of Jimmy’s breaths, the caw of a crow in the woods to the east, and the clack of tree branches blowing in the wind.
“You think there’s someone inside, Datt?” asked Sammy.
“Only one way to find out.” Securing the lines, Adam climbed down from the sleigh and started toward the vehicle.
“Ich will’s sana!” Sammy started to climb down. I want to see it.
“Stay with your sisters,” Adam told his son.
From thirty feet away, he discerned that the vehicle was actually a pickup truck, covered with snow, nose-down in the ditch, the bumper against a big hedge-apple tree. The impact had buckled the hood, causing it to become unlatched. Evidently, the driver hadn’t been able to see due to the heavy snow last night and must have run off the road. From his vantage point, Adam couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside. He waded through deep snow in the ditch and made his way around to the driver’s side. Surprise rippled through him when he saw that the door stood open a few inches. Snow had blown onto the seat and floor. Bending, he looked inside.
The airbag had deployed. A crack split the front windshield, but the glass was still intact. His gut tightened at the sight of the blood. There was a lot of it. Too much, a little voice whispered. Adam didn’t know anything about cars or trucks, but he didn’t think the impact would have been violent enough to warrant so much blood. What on earth had happened here?
Adam leaned into the vehicle for a closer look, but there was nothing else of interest. Straightening, he looked around. Any tracks left behind had long since been filled in. Where had the driver gone?
He walked to the rear of the truck. A tinge of apprehension tickled the back of his neck at the sight of the bullet holes in the rear window. Six holes connected by a mapwork of white cracks.
“Datt? Is someone in there?”
He startled at the sound of his son’s voice. Turning, he saw the boy come up behind him, hip-deep in snow, craning his neck to see into the vehicle.
“Go back to the sleigh, Sammy.”
But the boy had already spotted the blood. “Oh.” His thin little brows drew together. “He’s hurt, Datt, and needs help. Maybe we should look for him.”
The boy was right, of course. Helping those in need was the Amish way. Still, the bullet holes gave Adam pause. How had they gotten there and why?
“Let’s go back to the sleigh,” he told his son.
Side by side, they struggled through the ditch. Adam kept his eye out for tracks as they walked, but there were none. Either someone had come by and picked up the injured driver or he’d walked away and found help.
“Who is it, Datt?” asked Annie.
“No one there,” he told her.
“Are we going to look for him?” Lizzie asked.
“We’ll look around a bit,” he said.
Sammy lowered his voice, as if to avoid worrying his sisters. “Do you think he’s hurt, Datt?”
“Fleicht,” he said. Maybe.
Adam set his hand on his son’s head. Such a sweet boy, so helpful and caring. But Adam didn’t like seeing those bullet holes. He sure didn’t like seeing all that blood. Even so, if someone was hurt, finding them and helping them was the right thing to do.
“I’m going to look around,” he told the children. “I want you to stay close to the sleigh. Call out if you see anything. If we don’t find anyone here, we’ll ride down to the freezer shanty over on Ithaca Road and use the phone.”
“The Freezer” was a metal building containing a dozen or so freezers the Amish rented to store vegetables and meat. It had a community toilet, a hitching post, and a phone.