Adam lifted his youngest daughter from the sleigh and looked around. The fence that ran alongside the road was a jumble of bent posts and sagging barbed wire. On the other side of the road, the woods grew thick all the way to Painters Creek.
“Be careful, children,” he said as he started along the fence line. “Stay together and watch out for deep drifts or else I’ll have to dig you out, too.”
His words were met with a spate of giggles as they started toward the road.
Adam traversed the ditch and followed the fence. Fifty feet ahead, there was a knoll with a smattering of saplings and a place where blackberries flourished in late summer. He’d only gone twenty feet when he saw the scrap of fabric hanging from the barbed wire. Farther, a disturbance in the snow. At first, he thought maybe a deer had been hit and run into the ditch to die. But as he drew closer, he spotted the black leather of a boot. Blue denim.
He broke into a lurching run. “Hello? Is someone there? Are you hurt?”
From ten feet away he recognized the silhouette of a woman. Dark hair. A black leather coat and boots. Blue jeans.
Adam reached her and knelt. She was lying on her side, her head and shoulder against a fence post. Her legs were pulled up nearly to her chest, as if she’d been trying to stay warm. Brownish-black hair stuck out from beneath a purple knit hat, covering much of her face. Her clothes were caked with snow. Adam brushed the hair away and was shocked when he found it frozen stiff. He saw blue-tinged lips set into a face that was deathly pale. She wore a scarf at the collar of her coat. A single leather glove on her right hand. The other was bare and covered with blood. Her skin was cold to the touch and for a terrible moment he thought she was dead. Frozen to death.
Shaken by the thought, he worked off one of his gloves, set his fingers against the back of her neck, beneath her hat and hair. Warm, he realized. Still alive.
Relieved, he looked around. The closest house was his own. The Yoder farm was another mile down the road. The snow was coming down so hard he couldn’t even see the roof of their barn. They were Amish and didn’t have a phone, anyway. The closest Amish pay phone was at the freezer shanty, which was in the opposite direction.
He craned his neck right, spotted Lizzie and Annie using sticks to play tic-tac-toe in the snow. Sammy had made his way twenty yards ahead, checking the area along the fence.
The woman moaned. Adam turned back to her to see her twist. She raised her head and squinted at him. She was staring at his hat, her eyes wide. Her face was a mask of confusion and pain. “Get the fuck away from me,” she slurred.
He didn’t know what to say to that. He was trying to help her. Was she confused? He’d seen it happen, like the time he’d been hunting and his cousin fell through the ice. By the time they arrived home, his cousin hadn’t even been able to speak.
“Don’t be afraid.” Raising his hands, he sat back on his haunches. “I’m going to help you.”
“Back off.” She raised her left hand as if to fend him off. “I mean it.”
“You were in an accident,” he told her. “You’re bleeding. You need a doctor.”
“No doctor.” She tried to scoot backward, as if to put some distance between them, but ended up flopping sideways. Her face hit the snow. There were ice crystals on her skin. A smear of blood on her cheek. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached beneath her coat with her right hand and pulled out a pistol.
“Keep your fucking distance,” she hissed. “Stay back.”
Adam lurched away, raised his hands. “I have children.”
She raised her other hand, fingers blue with cold and covered with blood. She looked at it as if she wasn’t sure it was hers, wiped her face. “Who are you?”
“Adam … Lengacher.”
She blinked at him. “Where am I?”
“Painters Mill.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he ascertained the location of his children. They were ten yards away, near the fence. Too close. If this woman was narrisch—crazy—and fired that gun, there would be no protecting them.
Adam scooched back another foot, kept his hands raised. “I’m leaving. Just stay calm and we’ll go. Okay?”
“It’s a lady.”
His heart gave a single hard thud at the sound of his son’s voice. He hadn’t heard him approach. He twisted around fast and made eye contact with him. “Gay zu da shlay, Samuel. Nau.” Go to the sleigh. Now.
The boy’s eyes widened at his datt’s tone. He took a step back. “What’s wrong?”
“Gay,” he said. “Nau.” Go. Now.
The boy walked backward, frightened. Adam turned back to the woman. She was looking at Sammy. Gripping the pistol as if it were her lifeline. Dear God, what had he stumbled upon?
Before he could ponder the question, the hand holding the pistol collapsed as if she no longer had the strength to keep her arm outstretched. The gun slid from her palm. Her body went slack and she settled more deeply into the snow. She stared at him for a moment and then closed her eyes.
“I’m spent,” she rasped.
Adam wasn’t sure how to respond. The one thing he did know was that he didn’t want her reaching for that gun again. Moving closer, he picked it up. The steel was cold in his palm, wet from the snow, bits of ice on the muzzle. Not a revolver. He was no stranger to rifles; he’d been a hunter since he was thirteen years old. He had a .22 and an old muzzle-loader at home. This was … something else. What was she doing with a gun? Was it for protection? Was she a trustworthy individual? A criminal? If he helped her would he bring danger into his home?
Keeping the weapon out of sight from the children, Adam turned it over in his hand. It took him a moment, but he figured out how to release the magazine that held the ammunition. He dropped the clip into his coat pocket. He pulled back the slide, checked the chamber, dumped the single bullet into the snow. He put the weapon in another coat pocket.
“I guess I’m at your mercy now, huh?” the woman whispered.
Adam got to his feet. A glance over his shoulder told him all three children were sitting in the sleigh, their faces turned his way, expressions curious and worried. Around him the day no longer seemed magical. The snow no longer a gentle thing, but a threat. The wind had picked up, driving the falling snow sideways. Even the horse was hunched against the cold and wind.
He looked down at the woman. She lay still, unmoving, her eyes closed, as if she’d given up. Already a thin veil of snow clung to the newly exposed area of her clothes, her hair. If he left her here, she would freeze to death—or become buried if the sheriff’s deputies couldn’t get to her quickly.
She shifted as if in pain, made a sound that might have been a word. Keeping his distance, Adam knelt. “Do you want me to help you?” he asked.
She didn’t open her eyes. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. “Get Kate Burkholder,” she ground out. “I’m a cop. Get her.”
Adam knew the name. He’d known Katie Burkholder most of his life. How did this stranger know her? This was not the time to question her. She was injured and weak. He looked at his children. “Make a place for her on the backseat!” he called out. “We’re taking her home.”
“Ja!” Sammy said.