Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana (22 page)

Augustine Yoder coughed. “It is something you must come to terms with in your own time and through your own prayers. Of course, we will be praying with you. But it must be your decision. If you can be that Amish wife in an Amish home, we will bring you back into the church. Meanwhile, the ban is lifted. There will be no more shunning directed toward you from anyone in the community. This Sunday the church gathers for worship and teaching at Amos Zook’s house. You are welcome to join us; the door is open to you. It is also open to your young man. He is welcome to attend. We owe him a great deal. It would be good for him to see how we come to God and good to have him worship alongside us. Though it will be in our heavenly tongue and not the tongue of the English—or the Spanish.”

The men laughed.

“Thank you all for being patient and gracious towards me,” said Lynndae. “It means a great deal to feel I have been heard, forgiven, and embraced by my childhood friends and neighbors and Christians.”

“There is so little to forgive,” said Malachi Kauffman softly. “But there is much to give thanks for in heaven this day. Personally, I must thank you, from my heart, especially for young Bess’s safe return. She lights up our home like a hundred lamps.”

“I grew to love her very much. It was a privilege to bring her home to you, Pastor Kauffman. I hope I will see her again very soon?”

Malachi nodded. “We have told her she will see you on Sunday. We will make sure it is a long and wonderful day spent with God and with one another.”

Moses stood up. “So we will conclude.” He prayed and then the meeting was over.

After a quiet lunch with Moses and Mary and a short walk to the barn to look at the dairy cows, Lynndae took the cat with her into the bedroom that the Beacheys had set aside for her use. She lay back on a quilt with a brown and navy mariner’s compass design, Snitz purring and licking herself. Lynndae had borrowed a Bible and was leafing through it, thinking about reading some of the Psalms and the Gospel of John.

She found she missed the days on the train when, for the better part of a week, she had been wife and mother in a family of four. Every day she had spoken with Zeph. Every day she had laughed with Samuel and Bess. Now she felt lonely without them. She drew a circle over and over again on the quilt with her finger. At first the cat was interested in this movement, but after several minutes without any variation on the part of the circling finger, Snitz chose to tuck her tail around herself and doze off.

Lynndae found herself wondering if the kisses in the baggage car had been real. Had Z meant them, or was it just the relief they both felt once the gang had been captured? They had said so many wild and crazy things to one another on that trip, all the way back to Virginia City and the days on the stagecoach—did any of them matter now? Zeph felt so far away from her, it was as if he didn’t exist.

Lynndae propped her head up on one hand and gazed out the window. It was snowing heavily now, like salt pouring out of a shaker. She had a view of the barn and the sloping land behind it. A lovely place. But then, so was the Sweet Blue a lovely place. Could she leave her cattle and horses behind, her mountains and rivers, the heart-stirring bugle of the elk, and the chilling night moan of the wolf?

What about Z? How was he feeling about her now that he knew who she really was? Did he hate her? Could he forgive her? The woman he had cared about was the sister of a monster. Did that make her a monster in his eyes as well? Was he willing to wake up every morning and look in her eyes and see Seraphim Raber? How could he forget she shared blood ties with a cold-blooded killer?

She stood up and began to pace, squeezing her hands together.

A killer who still hunted them. She felt no fear. Yet she had experienced moments of great fear on the journey from Iron Springs to Bird in Hand. Was it this place, with all its prayers and faith and open Bibles and absence of violence, that calmed her spirit? She glanced down at the Gospel of John and picked the Bible up. It was
chapter 14
and verse 27 that caught her eye, underlined as it was with a neat black line of ink and marked with a date in equally neat and precise handwriting, August 17, 1863, probably by Mary Beachey: “‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’”

She laid her head back on the pillow and watched the snowflakes pelt against the window and the frozen earth. Her fingers stroked Snitz’s fur.

Please protect Mary and Moses, Lord. Bless and protect Samuel and Bess as You have already done. Watch over these homes and these families. Watch over Zephaniah—and grant this peace You speak of to all.

Chapter 25

E
ven with the bellows making the forge roar and Augustine hammering a section of an iron plow on his largest anvil, Zeph could still hear the horse walking carefully up the icy track to the Yoder shop. Was there some sixth sense of his that had come back into operation since they’d ridden out of Iron Springs in the middle of the night? He’d had that feeling for things during the war, but had been determined to bury it once the fighting stopped. Yet there it was, back again. He could see that Augustine didn’t realize a horse and rider were coming. He tapped him on the shoulder, and the big man looked up, face and beard dripping sweat. Zeph indicated the visitor with a jerk of his chin.

Augustine stared at the man on the tall chestnut horse and said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. Then he spoke in English for Zeph’s benefit. “Big R. What brings him out?”

“Hello, the smithy!” called the man. “A good Saturday morning to one and all in the Yoder family.” “Velkommen,
wie geht es dir?”
“Gute.”

The man swung down from the saddle. He was taller than Zeph or Augustine by half a foot. He squinted up at the February sun as it pulled free from a cloud bank and made the snow and ice dance. Then he took off his dark-brown Stetson and ran a gloved hand over his iron-gray hair—it was cut close to his scalp, Zeph noticed. Under his earth-brown duster he wore a lighter brown, three-piece suit. A star glinted on its lapel.

“Always the Lewis Tweed,” complained Augustine with a smile.

“Not plain enough for you?” “The pattern—”

“Houndstooth? I have seen your women wear calico that makes my tweed look Amish enough for the bishop.”

“Only the young, maybe you’ve seen.”

“Depends what you call young, August. Well, the day you strap on a six-gun and clean up Lancaster County is the day I wear Amish black. How are you?”

He and Augustine shook hands.

“The Lord is good,” said Augustine.

“I feel the same way.”

“Is there something wrong that you are up and about on your best horse?”

“Shotgun and I are just doing our duty, August, working hard to keep you Amish out of trouble.”

The man turned to Zeph. “Mister Parker? I asked for you at the house. Sheriff Friesen. Lancaster County is my jurisdiction.”

Zeph took his hand. “Sheriff.”

“Folks call me Rusty. Or Big R. Take your pick.”

“Rusty?”

“No, it’s not too red anymore, is it? Someone sticks a handle on you when you’re young, and it’s yours for life.”

“He came to us with the news of what had happened in your Territory,” said Augustine, looking somber.

The sheriff nodded. “I had to find out who the kids’ relatives were. August, we’re going to walk a bit, is that all right with you?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll go inside for a coffee; take your time.” “Danke.”

Sheriff Friesen led his horse back toward the main road, and Zeph walked with him. Augustine suddenly clapped Zeph on the shoulder, and he turned around. The blacksmith put his cape overcoat in Zeph’s hands.

“One of you must be plain,” he said.

Zeph shrugged it on and immediately felt warmer in the cool winter air. He caught up to the sheriff. They went a ways in silence.

The sheriff didn’t appear to be armed. Zeph wondered if that was because he harbored the same sentiments about guns and violence the Amish did.

As if sensing his thoughts, the sheriff spoke up. “I go heeled, Mister Parker. But it doesn’t seem right to aggravate these good folk unnecessarily. I have a Smith and Wesson Schofield snug in a holster that’s sewn into my suit jacket, just inside on the left, and unseen. It’s the Wells Fargo model, barrel cut to five inches and the whole revolver refinished in nickel. I favor a cross draw; I believe it’s faster. Only had to use it twice in Lancaster County. Which makes my parents happy. I am of Mennonite stock, and a good many of them hold to the same opinion of guns and shooting our fine Amish friends do. I appreciate my parents’ point of view, but considering the evil I’ve seen men do, I beg to differ on what’s best needed to quell some of that wickedness. The lawful authorities have the power of the sword, and sometimes we need to use it. How does the Bible put it?”

There was a long pause. Zeph decided to quote the verses he felt Sheriff Friesen had in mind. “‘For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.’ Romans, chapter thirteen, part of verse three and all of verse four.”

Sheriff Friesen chuckled and glanced over at him. “That’s pretty good. You go to Sunday school?”

Zeph laughed. “Yeah, my brother Matt’s Sunday school. He’s drilled that passage into me ever since he became a lawman back in the ‘60s. My other brother’s a clergyman, and Matt always tells him he’s a minister of God, too, the Reverend B. A’Fraid.”

Friesen laughed along with Zeph and nodded. “Well, it’s God’s truth, even my Mennonite relatives admit that. They question whether a Christian man ought to be caught up in it; that’s the issue they have. I say to them, ‘Would you rather have outlaws pinning on sheriff’s badges and enforcing God’s laws for you?’ That’s usually when they tell me to take a second helping of chicken and dumplings to shut me up.”

They walked a little farther, and then the sheriff spoke again. “I had a telegram from a Marshal Austen in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It seems we are about to have some unwelcome visitors in Lancaster County.”

“I contacted Marshal Michael James Austen from Lancaster. Seraph Raber wasn’t hung, sheriff. He slipped through K Company’s fingers the day they caught two members of the gang.” “Mm.”

“Raber knows we’re in Lancaster County. I told my brother in Iron Springs, Montana, we’d be pushing on to Philadelphia.

Raber has an accomplice in Iron Springs. He will pass on the news to the gang.”

Sheriff Friesen shook his head. “Raber won’t buy it. You tricked him at the railroad. He’ll come here.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Well, if I thought it was just Raber, I’d sleep a lot easier. No, he’s got the rest of his men with him, the ones that got away after they held up the train.”

They reached the road and stopped.

“Raber telegraphed you from Omaha on Thursday, is that right?” asked the sheriff.

“Him. Or someone else. He could have already been far up the line in Chicago.”

“Well, let’s hope it was him and that he really was in Omaha. He could be here Monday if that’s the case. What am I looking for?”

“He has a cut that runs from his eye to his chin.”

“Which side?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’ve never seen him. The girl did a drawing of his face and put it in. The left side maybe.”

“Mm.”

“He could have covered it with a beard by now.” “Or a woman’s makeup.”

“Sheriff, if he knows I’m not here, he won’t stop in Lancaster. The information about his scar is going to be right across the country after a couple more days. Killing the kids won’t change anything now. But he has a score to settle with me. Two of his gang were hung. I helped the army trap them. He wants me. I’ve got to be bait again.”

“I told you. He’s not likely to go for it a second time.”

“If I pick a spot he can check out before he makes his play, a spot that will make him confident, I believe he may go for it. He has to prove to whoever’s left in his gang that the people who cross Seraph Raber die hard deaths. He’ll build another gang around that reputation.”

“How do you expect us to protect you if you go someplace where he can see gophers and wood ticks for a thousand miles?”

“I don’t.”

“What are your intentions? To be a holy sacrifice?”

“He murdered Amish in Iron Springs. I don’t intend to let him do more of the same here in Lancaster County. If he wants me, I’ll make sure he knows where to find me.”

“Have you got a place in mind?”

“Not yet.”

“And you won’t tell me when you do anyhow.”

“No, sir. I’d rather have you keeping an eye out for the good people of Bird in Hand. In case I get it wrong and he comes here to work mischief, regardless of where I’m holed up.”

The sheriff swung up on his horse. “I’ll have some deputies riding the roads hereabouts. And I’ll have men watching that railroad station the way a hawk watches a pigeon. Raber doesn’t get by with anything in Lancaster County, not without a fight. To quote that verse, I don’t bear the sword in vain.”

Friesen rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and looked at the snow-covered landscape. “I always hoped the James-Younger gang would try to take the bank in Lancaster some fine day, but it’s never happened yet. Things are so quiet here among the Germans it gets a lawman hungering for action, even the most hazardous kind. I may never get Jesse James, but the Lord has so arranged matters that I may just get the Angel of Death instead.” He smiled down at Zeph. “I need to go tell my good wife, May, what’s going on. She’ll be fussing with our horses and dairy herd. Mister Parker, I wish you all the luck in the world.” Then he spoke to Shotgun, and the big chestnut began to trot along the road back to Lancaster.

Zeph walked back to the smithy. Augustine called to him from the front door of the house, his hands in his pockets.

“How about some coffee?”