A Quilt for Jenna (3 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

The Crash

T
HE OLD
F
ORD STATION WAGON
sped west through the growing darkness on County Road 188 toward Apple Creek. The man behind the wheel had a two-day growth of beard and bloodshot eyes. Beside him, shoved down between the two front seats, sat an open whiskey bottle. Every few minutes the man pulled it out, put the bottle to his lips, and drank. The snow was coming down harder now, and the man was singing at the top of his voice.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaayyyy.”

When he heard a sob from the backseat, he turned to look at his passenger—a little girl, her eyes wide, her thin summer coat pulled tight around her body. She was about four years old with wavy strawberry-blonde hair, and under the coat she was wearing a dress, a wool sweater, some tights, and a pair of sneakers. Her skin was pale, and her lips were cracked from the cold.

“Whatta ya cryin' about?” he snarled. “I told your mama not to take that stuff. I told her over and over that she was in over her head. But would she listen to me? No. She just kept whining. ‘I need to get high, Joe, I need to get high.' Well, she got
too
high, and now she's gone and we're stuck with each other—and you're not even my kid.”

Joe took another long pull on the bottle. The little girl in the back was clinging to the door handle with all her strength as Joe fishtailed down the road.

“Mama,” she said softly.

“Shut up about your mama,” Joe snapped. He leaned back over the seat and took a drunken swing at the girl with his open palm. The car went into a skid and headed toward the bank alongside the road.

“Whooee, this road is getting slick,” Joe said as he steered the car out of the skid.

The girl began to cry—barely a whimper—as she whispered “Mama” once more.

Joe ignored the cry this time and reached for the bottle again, and taking another long pull, he drained it. As he did the car again swerved, and the little girl cried out, “Mama...Mama!”

“That's enough about Mama!” Joe shouted as he threw the empty bottle down in the corner of the car. “I've had it with your sniveling.” He reached back and grabbed at the girl but missed. Her cries now became shrieks of fear as Joe turned from the girl to the steering wheel and then back at the girl, screaming, “Just shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Looking away from the road, he didn't see the sudden corner, and before he could turn back to the wheel, the car went straight off the road, down an embankment into a wooded area, and over a mound that sent the car airborne. The old Ford slowly turned in midair as it sailed over a rise and then crashed down on its side and slid down a bank. The car finally hit up against a big pine, spun completely around, and crashed into a rocky outcrop, which swung the car downhill again. They slid for several more feet and then slowly came to a halt.

Everything was quiet for a few minutes, and then Joe groaned. He had been thrown facedown on the passenger side and ended up in a ball against the door. The little girl had disappeared down behind the front seat and lay there, quiet and still. Joe turned himself around and tried to pull himself up the seat to the driver's door. His face was bloody, and pain shot through his arm like fire. The car shifted as he moved and slowly rolled over onto its roof. Joe cried out in agony as he fell back against the passenger door. He tried the door, and it creaked open, so he slowly crawled out, cursing with every movement. The car jutted partway out on what looked like a large snow-covered meadow. Joe struggled to his feet, kicked the door shut, and looked around. Behind him, the marks of the car's journey down the hill showed him the way back to the road.

“Well, isn't this handy?” he muttered. “I can get rid of my little passenger, and if anyone asks, I'll tell 'em she got killed in the wreck.”

Joe stepped to the back door. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he sang as he reached for the door handle.

He bent down to look in the window. The little girl looked out at him with terrified eyes.

“Peek-a-boo, I see you.”

Joe grinned and pulled on the handle. The door was jammed shut, and he couldn't budge it, so he stood up and began to kick the window.

“Come on out, honey,” he grunted in pain. “I'm gonna help you find your mama.”

He didn't have enough strength left in his leg to continue kicking, so he looked around for something to break the window. A few feet away he saw a long piece of metal that had broken off the car as it hit the ground. He walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he did he heard an ominous cracking under his feet. He stopped and listened.

He heard the cracking again, only louder this time, and then in an instant he knew where he was. This wasn't a large meadow—it was a frozen pond. Terror gripped him. The ice groaned again, and a long fracture shot out from between his feet. Desperately he took a running leap, but the ice broke beneath his feet, and he plunged into freezing water. He struggled to climb out, but his right arm, still in pain, couldn't keep a grip on the edge of the ice. Each time he took hold, the edge broke away.

Finally, in desperation, he called out, “Help me! Please, God, help me!”

Panic-stricken, he began thrashing wildly at the edge of the ice, trying to pull himself up. But the more he thrashed, the weaker he felt.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God!” he screamed, and then his water-soaked clothing dragged him under. He struggled back up, but he swallowed water as he gasped for breath and then sank again. There was a wild momentary thrashing under the water, and then a stream of bubbles broke the surface. Then everything was quiet and the water became still.

In the car, the little girl's eyes were fixed on the surface of the water where Joe had disappeared. She had slipped down into the space between the front and back seats when Joe was grabbing for her before the crash, and that had saved her life. Now she lay on the ceiling of the upside-down car clinging to a dislodged seat cushion. She had a small gash over her eye, and with Joe's disappearance into the water, she cried, “Mama...Mama, come find me...Mama!”

Then she slipped into unconsciousness, and it grew quiet in the car. Outside, the wind began to blow harder through the trees, and the snow began to fall.

Jerusha sat up in her bed.

It had been a horrible dream. Jenna had been lost in a dark place, crying for her. Jerusha wanted to scream, “I'm coming, baby, I'm coming,” but no sound would come out. And then Jerusha woke up. She put her face in her hands and sobbed until the light began to break in the east.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

The Journey Begins

T
HE GRAY LIGHT OF DAWN
crept slowly into Jerusha's room. Outside, the wind whistled around the eaves and through the trees. Jerusha lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the deep ache in her heart pounding like a throbbing wound. She had often dreamed of Jenna but never as vividly as last night.

She slowly swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat for a long time with her head in her hands. Then she rose and headed for the simple bathroom. Before she turned on the shower, she ran cold water into the sink until it was full and then put her face under the water. The shock brought her quickly awake, clearing the fog from her mind. As she toweled off her face, she couldn't shake the memory of the dream. Jenna was near but lost in a dark place, calling to her.

She looked up into the mirror and stared at the face she saw there. She had been a lovely girl once, but grief and loss had carved their cruel imprint on her features. The once-smooth skin had frown lines that made her look much older than she really was. Her eyes, once bright and expectant and full of life and faith, now had a dull, lost look.

The sound of the grandfather clock tolling six times broke into her thoughts and brought her back to reality. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late.

Hurriedly she stepped into the shower. As she stood under the barely lukewarm water, her thoughts pressed in on her again.

When I leave here, I'll never have to worry about hot water or heat again. I won't have to share the propane with my neighbors. I'll get a car and go wherever I want to go. I'll have
Englisch
friends, and I'll call them on the phone. Maybe I'll even have a television set!

Jerusha was startled by the sudden sense of shame that swept over her.

“And I won't feel guilty about anything I do!” she said out loud, glaring toward the heavens, where she imagined this Amish God was sitting on His terrible throne laughing at her. As she stepped out of the shower to towel off, she continued her rant. “I won't feel guilty ever again, and I'll do what I want to do, and You'll never stop me...”

Jerusha trembled at her own words but then added, “She's gone, and You took her from me. I hate You! I hate You! I hate You.”

A knock on the front door caused her to take hold of her emotions.

“Missus Springer?”

It was Henry, the
Englisch
neighbor boy who was going to drive her to Dalton. She opened the bathroom door and called out, “I'm running a little late, Henry. Can you come back in twenty minutes?”

“Sure thing, ma'am,” the boy said through the door, “but if we're going to get up to Dalton before the storm hits, we have to get going.”