Page 16 of Disappeared

I look at Bonnie. “When did you find out Little Joe was with Thomas?”

“An hour or so after I spoke to you. I walked down to the pay phone and called Thomas. Mainly, to tell him Little Joe had disappeared. Thomas told me what he’d done. I was angry, but he wanted the chance to explain.” She looks away, but not before I see a flash of shame in her eyes. “He sent a driver to pick me up on the dirt road behind our farm. The driver brought me here.” She tightens her mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Chief Burkholder. But I was scared. And I was ashamed.”

“How is any of this going to help Little Joe?” I ask.

Bonnie responds. “Thomas spent weeks researching the latest medical breakthroughs and different chemo treatments. He looked at clinics and doctors and nutrition. He convinced me it was a mistake to take him off the chemo. He gave me hope.”

Thomas squeezes her hand. “The three of us have an appointment in the morning at the children’s hospital in Cleveland. They’re the best in the world, Chief Burkholder. We’re going to beat this. As a family. And with God’s help.”

“Please don’t misunderstand, Chief Burkholder,” Bonnie says. “My parents love Little Joe. They mean well. They believe in doctors and the power of medicine, too. But they’re wrong about this.”

Thomas shakes his head. “It didn’t help that her parents don’t like me, Chief Burkholder. Not just because I’ve made some mistakes. But because I’m not Amish.” He flushes. “I guess we’re still working that out.”

“I love my parents,” Bonnie says. “I love being Amish. My community. My friends.” She blinks back tears, but doesn’t acknowledge them when they fall. “Even grumpy old Bishop Troyer.” She looks down at their clasped hands. “This has made me realize that I cannot remain Amish and marry the father of my son. The man I love. I had to choose.”

“There’s a Mennonite group,” Thomas adds. “Not far from Painters Mill.”

“The bishop there will marry us,” Bonnie tells us. “Even though Thomas isn’t Anabaptist.”

Tomasetti looks from Bonnie to Thomas. “You could have been facing some serious charges.”

Thomas holds his gaze. “I figured I could play by the rules and risk losing my son to cancer—or I could do something about it.” He shrugs. “I chose to do something about it. If that makes me a criminal, then you might as well cuff me and haul me off to jail right now.”

“What happened last night?” I ask.

Thomas doesn’t hesitate. “I waited until everyone was in bed. I parked down by the bridge and went into the house.” He runs his fingertips over Bonnie’s hand. “I knew my way around; I’d been inside the house a few times. I knew the back door was never locked. I went upstairs and lifted Little Joe out of his crib. And I brought him here.”

“And the blood?” I ask.

“Little guy had a bloody nose,” he tells me. “Scared the crap out of me.”

“It happens because of the leukemia,” Bonnie adds.

I look at Tomasetti and he shrugs. “Looks like they’ve got the situation under control.”

I turn my attention back to the young couple. They’re sitting close now, with Little Joe on his mamm’s lap, his little head on her shoulder. Thomas stares down at his son, his arm around Bonnie.

I address Bonnie. “We let your parents know you’ve been found and that you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“They’d probably appreciate hearing from you,” I tell her.

She lowers her gaze. “I’ll talk to them after the doctor appointment tomorrow.”

Tomasetti gets to his feet. “I think we’re done here.”

Thomas passes him his slicker. “Thank you,” he says, and extends his hand.

Surprising me, Tomasetti grasps the younger man’s hand and shakes it. “Do me a favor and keep your nose clean, will you?” He looks at the toddler and smiles. “That little guy is depending on you.”

Thomas grins. “I won’t let him down,” he says. “Ever.”

“Good luck at the clinic tomorrow,” I tell them as I shrug into my slicker.

The young man turns to me and shakes my hand with unbridled enthusiasm. “Thank you for not giving up on me, Chief Burkholder. We’ll keep you posted.”

It’s eight P.M. and I’m sitting at my desk in my small office, glad this very long day has come to a close. The police station is blissfully quiet. My newest officer, Mona, is covering for my second-shift dispatcher, and I can just make out Roger Daltrey belting out the final notes of “Love, Reign O’er Me” from the radio on her desk.