Page 79 of Shamed

For the thousandth time she wondered about her sweet Elsie. Was she warm and dry? Had she been fed? Was she crying and afraid and missing her family? She thought about the shattered glasses found in the bishop’s buggy and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone had hurt her—or worse. The not knowing tore at Miriam like some clawed animal trapped in her chest and trying to dig its way out.

“Lord, I put my hope in You, for Your love never fails.” She uttered the words on a sob, in a voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I need you, God. I can’t handle this on my own.”

Even as she said the words, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being punished for what they’d done all those years ago. If this was God’s way of telling her they’d taken the wrong path.

“Please forgive me my sin, Heavenly Father, for I didn’t know—”

The shattering of glass followed by an odd thwack! tore her from her prayer. Miriam got to her feet, looked around, her heart beating hard against her ribs.

“Ivan?” she called out.

She strode to the mudroom, but her husband wasn’t there. She went back through the kitchen to the hall, glanced up the stairs to the landing where the children sometimes sat when they couldn’t sleep, but the stairs were bare.

Where had the odd sound come from? What had broken?

Miriam went back to the kitchen and looked around. The sight of the hole in the refrigerator froze her in place. She didn’t know much about guns, but her datt had been a hunter; she’d been around enough shooting to recognize a bullet hole when she saw it. The realization slammed into her like a jagged block of ice.

Frightened, she ran to the living room. The curtains were open, darkness peering in. A hole the size of her thumb marred the glass. And she knew he’d finally come for them.

Spurred by panic, Miriam bolted to the stairs, ascended them with the speed of a woman half her age. At the top, she darted left, tore down the hall, threw open the first door and dashed to the beds. Bonnie and Irma slept soundly, snoring softly.

“Miriam?”

Gasping, she spun, saw her husband silhouetted against the door, still wearing his coat. She rushed to him, went through the door, closed it behind her. “Someone shot through the window,” she said.

“What?” His eyes widened. “When?”

“Just now.”

Even in the dim light of the gas lamp, she saw his face pale. “The children—”

Not waiting for him to finish, Miriam hurried to the next room. Her legs went weak with relief when she found her two sons sleeping and completely unaware.

Ivan met her in the hall, his eyes frightened and large. “The girls are fine,” he said. “Sleeping.”

“It’s him,” she whispered. “He’s come for us.”

Ivan stared at her, saying nothing. He didn’t have to. He knew, just as she did.

“Lock the doors and windows.” He started toward the stairs.

Miriam choked out a sob, set her hand over her mouth. “Go to the phone,” she whispered. “Call Chief Burkholder.”

I’m on my way home for a shower and a few hours of sleep when the call comes in. I’m expecting Tomasetti; uneasiness ripples through me when I recognize the number of the prepaid cell I left with the Helmuths.

“Chief Burkholder!” Ivan. I can tell by the breathless cadence of his voice that something’s happened.

“Someone shot into the house,” he says. “We need you to come.”

“Is anyone hurt?” I ask.

“No, but we’re afraid. The children!”

“I’m on my way,” I tell him. “Stay inside. Stay away from the windows.”

I make a U-turn. The engine groans as I crank the speedometer to sixty and blow back through town. I call Skid. “I got shots fired at the Helmuth place.”

“Holy shit. Chief, I’m there. Goat Head Road. Didn’t see a damn thing.”