Sam2wherehopedwells9780824906221

No clouds are so dark
that God cannot see
through them.
—An Amish Proverb

Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries
Blessings in Disguise
Where Hope Dwells

Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries is a trademark of Guideposts.
Published by Guideposts Books & Inspirational Media
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Copyright © 2015 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
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This is a work of ﬁction. Sugarcreek, Ohio, actually exists and some characters are based
onactualresidentswhoseidentitieshavebeenﬁctionalizedtoprotecttheirprivacy.Allother
names, characters, businesses, and events are the creation of the author’s imagination, and
any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
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book. If any such acknowledgment has been inadvertently omitted or miscredited,
receipt of such information would be appreciated.
Scripture references are from the following sources: The Holy Bible, King James Version
(KJV). The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978,
1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan.
“The Honey Bee Café” article is reprinted with permission from Guideposts magazine.
Copyright © 2015 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.
Cover and interior design by Müllerhaus.
Cover illustration by Bill Bruning, represented by Deborah Wolfe, LTD.
Typeset by Aptara, Inc.
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my beloved granddaughters. I am doubly blessed!

Chapter One
The bell above the door to the Swiss Miss chimed a greeting.
Cheryl Cooper looked up from the basket she was stuffing
and peeked around the long wooden counter that stretched across
the back of her aunt Mitzi’s gifts and sundries shop. Business
had hit a lull in this awkward period between Halloween and
Thanksgiving, but with Christmas around the corner, it wouldn’t
be long before customers once again packed the aisles.
Cheryl straightened and pasted on a bright smile for the
flustered-looking woman hovering near the entrance. “Good
morning. Can I help you find something?”
The woman flicked a glance in her direction then turned an
almost desperate stare on the baby toys and crib mobiles on display
near the window. “What can you tell me about these?”
Swiping her hands briskly against her jeans, Cheryl rounded
the counter and went to stand next to her customer. “Those are all
made by local craftsmen. Some of the designs have been handed
down for generations. This one, for example,”—she tapped a
small wooden horse on a handmade carousel mobile and sent it
spinning—“was passed down by Jacob Hoffman’s grandfather.
Jacob owns the furniture store across the street...”
“How much?”

2 | Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries
Cheryl blinked. “I’m sorry?”
The corner of the woman’s mouth twitched. “How much for
that one?”
“Well, I...”
Cheryl tore her gaze from the woman’s thin lips and fumbled
for the price tag, but the woman grasped it before Cheryl could,
ﬂipped it over, then pulled two twenty-dollar bills from her wallet.
“Keep the change.”
Cheryl motioned toward the old cash register on the counter
where she’d been working. “Are you sure? It’ll only take a moment.
I can get you a bag.”
The bell tinkled again, and this time a slender woman in a
brown cape dress stepped through the entrance. She carried a
wooden lug crammed with jars of jam.
Cheryl spared a quick smile. “Hi, Naomi. I’ll be with you in
a moment.”
Naomi Miller, Cheryl’s friend and mystery-solving partner,
shook her head. “No rush. Do you need me to get anything ready
for you to take to the farm?”
“Nope. I’ve got it all together. It’s over there on the counter.”
Cheryl returned her gaze to the woman. “As I was saying...”
But the woman was already slipping the mobile into a large
pewter-colored purse with initials emblazoned across its front.
“I don’t need a bag. Thank you.”
She hurried to the door before Cheryl could protest.
A frown bunched Naomi’s brow as she too watched the woman
scurry away. “What was that all about?”

Where Hope Dwells | 3
A feeling of unease pressed on Cheryl’s chest as she watched
the woman scuttle down the sidewalk and out of sight. She
shrugged and turned from the window. “Tourists. Who knows?”
Chuckling, Naomi followed her to the back of the store.
“Sorry I’m so late.” She lifted the lug. “A few of these jars looked
dusty, so I decided to wash them before I put them on the shelves.”
At the sound of Naomi’s cheerful voice, Cheryl’s Siamese cat,
Beau, leaped from his spot on the counter to weave figure eights
around her feet.
She set down the jams and bent to tickle his chin. “Looks like
someone is happy to see me.”
“He’s always happy to see you. So am I.” Cheryl smiled and
turned the basket on the counter so that Naomi could see it.
Festooned with blue bows and a card that read Congratulations in
neat, curvy script, she said, “What do you think?”
Naomi fingered the slender strips of satin. “Is this ribbon new?”
“Just got it last week.” Cheryl reached under the counter for
two handmade baby rattles, one shaped like a fish, the other a bird,
and tucked them into the raffia lining the bottom of the basket.
“With all the babies being born around Sugarcreek, I had to set
these aside.” She stepped back and eyed the basket critically.
“Well?”
“Very nice.” Naomi nodded approvingly then lifted the strap
of a floppy tote from around her neck and laid it on the counter.
Folding open the flap, she removed two baby quilts. One featured
a traditional log cabin pattern, and the other featured a playful
figure embroidered in each of six blocks.

Cheryl gasped and smoothed her palm over the quilts. “Oh,
Naomi.”
“I thought you would like them.”
“I love them, and so will the Swartzentrubers. They’re beauti-
ful.” Struck with a thought, she frowned. “You don’t think this gift
is too extravagant?”
Naomi’s gentle smile warmed Cheryl’s heart. “Not at all. The
family will be blessed by your thoughtfulness.”
Cheryl shook her head and tucked the blankets next to the
rattles. “You did all the work. I just provided the cloth.”
“Do not make light of your contribution, Cheryl. Generosity,
in itself, is a gift. You administer yours faithfully.”
Though Naomi was shorter by nearly four inches, Cheryl had
learned to look up to her friend. Certain her cheeks were as red as
her hair, she gave the basket a ﬁnal pat. “Okay then, I guess it’s
ready. Sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“Ja, I’m sure.” A shadow ﬂitted over Naomi’s face, and she
lowered her gaze. “When Esther gets here to tend the store, I
thought I’d pay a visit to Rebecca Zook.”
Silence descended at the mention of the grieving mother, so
recently made childless.
“Besides,” Naomi said, her tone brightening, “I need to get
these jars on the shelves.” She gestured toward a vacant spot. “I
also brought a few more jars of apple butter and pumpkin
butter.”
Cheryl smiled mischievously. “Still no hope of wrangling the
recipes from you, I suppose?”

Naomi wrinkled her nose and tugged on the strings dangling
from her bonnet.
Cheryl laughed. Hooking one arm through the basket, she
said, “All right, then. Thanks again for watching the shop. Please
tell Esther I’ll see her this afternoon.”
Purring loudly, Beau rubbed against Naomi’s stockinged leg.
“What about him?” Naomi bent to pick him up. Cradled in
her arms, Beau peered at Cheryl through narrowed lids.
She sighed. “You’re right. I’ll have to run him home ﬁrst.” For-
tunately, it was only four blocks and the mild fall weather made
the trip pleasant.
“Or I could take him,” Naomi oﬀered, tickling Beau’s chin
and earning another loud purr.
“You don’t mind?”
She clucked gently and shooed Cheryl with a wave of her
hand. “Go on, now. Tell the Swartzentrubers hello and let them
know I’ll come around to check on them next week.”
“Will do. I know they’ll be very glad to see you.”
Though no longer a stranger, Cheryl was still amazed by the
closeness of the Amish community at Sugarcreek. Their concern
and care for one another was a far cry from the harried lifestyle
she’d left behind in Columbus.
She drew in a lungful of crisp country air as she left the store
and hurried to the used Ford Focus she’d driven to work in lieu of
her normal walk. She grimaced as she folded herself into the driv-
er’s seat, the top of her jeans pinching into her waist. So much for
shedding a few pounds. Naomi’s cooking had nipped that idea,

but quick. She determined to get in some exercise after she left the
Swartzentrubers’.
Pushing aside thoughts of a diet, Cheryl concentrated on the
short drive. The dairy farm wasn’t hard to find now that she’d
acclimated to the landscape. The first couple of weeks had been
a nightmare of new roads and obscure landmarks. Now she felt
right at home among the lush hills and farms of Tuscarawas
County in eastern Ohio.
A dog’s bark greeted her as she pulled into the Swartzentrubers’
driveway. Though gruff, she’d learned not to fear old Rufus’s warn-
ing. A simple dog biscuit could quiet him in a hurry. Smiling, she
withdrew a treat she’d tucked into a side pocket of her purse and
tossed it over the fence to him before making her way up the stone
path to the front door.
Rachel Swartzentruber welcomed her after the first knock.
“Guder mariye, Cheryl. You are out and about early today.”
Like herself, Rachel was an outsider to the Amish community,
having only recently joined the church. But she was trying hard to
adopt all of their ways, including a few of the Pennsylvania Dutch
words and phrases her husband used.
“Good morning, Rachel.”
Cheryl accepted a brief hug before being ushered inside. It was
nice to have someone who could relate to all she was going through
to gain acceptance in the Amish community. But sometime during
the recent mystery of foreboding notes and strange additions to the
Swiss Miss’s inventory, she’d made friends. Many of the families
had already dropped the formality with which they treated most

Englischers. A few others were still warming to her, but she felt like
she was making Sugarcreek her home.
“The twins are sleeping,” Rachel said, sighing wearily. “I just
got them settled and was about to sit down for some coffee. Would
you like some?”
Since she hadn’t taken time for her ritual caffeine, a steaming
cup of coffee sounded wonderful. Cheryl nodded and followed
Rachel into the quaint farmhouse kitchen.
“The boys still having colic trouble?” she asked, pulling a chair
out from the massive oak table that dominated the space.
Rachel nodded. “Well, Joseph is, anyway,” she said as she
poured two cups from a blue enamelware percolator then carried
them to the table along with a sugar bowl and creamer filled with
heavy cream. She passed a mug to Cheryl, who ignored the sugar
but added a substantial amount of cream to her cup. She missed
the morning frappe stops on her way to work back when she lived
in Columbus, but she had to admit, fresh coffee brewed over a
propane stove was a delicacy she was learning to enjoy just as
much.
“I wish I knew what was causing the stomachaches,” Rachel
continued. Worried lines marred her brow. “Joseph especially,
suffers from cramps. He keeps us all awake at night.”
Which explained the dark circles below her eyes. Cheryl
nodded sympathetically and took a cautious sip.
Rachel sat then said, “Perhaps I should be thankful the boys
are fraternal twins and not identical. Their personalities and con-
stitutions seem to be totally different even at this early age, not to

mention their looks. You’ll see when they wake up, John favors
me and Joseph looks more like my husband. I can’t imagine,
though, what I’d do if John were as fussy as Joseph.” She gestured
to the basket at Cheryl’s feet. “So what is that you have brought
with you?”
“Oh, I almost forgot. It’s a gift.” Cheryl set her cup aside and
lifted the basket for her to see. “It’s from me and Naomi. I hope
you like it.”
Rachel accepted the basket with a sincere thank-you. “These
are beautiful,” she said, ﬁngering the stitched edges on the log
cabin blanket. “That Naomi Miller is quite the seamstress. I only
wish I could sew half as well. I simply haven’t mastered the patience
required.”
Cheryl pointed to the dark blue curtains draped above the
kitchen sink. “It appears you’re learning. Those are new, aren’t
they?”
Happiness ﬂushed Rachel’s cheeks. “They are not so complicated
as Naomi’s blankets, but I am pleased with the way they have turned
out.”
“They’re sweet,” Cheryl said and patted her hand encourag-
ingly. Rachel was a new wife and mother, and everything she
did displayed how important it was to her that she make the
farmhouse feel like home. Cheryl had felt the same way once...
back when she’d almost been a bride.
She squelched the thought—and the bitter feelings that
accompanied it—and turned her thoughts to Naomi’s thirty-year-
old stepson, Levi. Before coming to Sugarcreek, Cheryl would

never have believed she’d entertain romantic notions again—and
for an Amish man, no less! Could there be a more different way of
life? Yet Rachel and Samuel had found a way to make it work.
Rufus’s bark drifting from the front yard cut short her thoughts.
Cheryl quirked an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Rachel shook her head. She started to rise, but the dog quickly
fell silent. She grimaced and returned to her chair. “Must have
been a squirrel. I just hope he doesn’t wake the boys.”
No sound carried from the nursery, so the two women resumed
chatting. Before long, an hour had slipped by. The coffeepot was
empty and so was Cheryl’s cup. She smiled and rose to leave.
“I know you’re busy. I won’t keep you any longer, Rachel.”
“Thank you for the visit,” she replied, standing with her. “It
was nice to enjoy some adult conversation.”
Cheryl hesitated by the door. “Still no word from your family,
I take it?”
A fleeting look of sorrow crossed Rachel’s features, and she
shook her head. Though they’d been born and raised in Tuscarawas
County, her mother and father had not approved of her decision to
join the Amish community, and they rarely visited. No doubt,
choosing to leave the life she’d known had been difficult for Rachel.
Heat warmed Cheryl’s face. Was the right man incentive enough to
try?
She squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “They’ll come around, espe-
cially now that they have two fine grandsons.”
Rachel ducked her head. “I pray you are right. Samuel doesn’t
say so, but it hurts him that my parents are so unaccepting.”

A crimp gripped Cheryl’s heart. She’d been wary of the Amish
lifestyle herself, and not so long ago. Ignorance could be a crip-
pling thing.
“Keep praying for them,” she whispered. “God will speak to
their hearts.”
Tears filled Rachel’s eyes, but she nodded and opened her
mouth to speak. Her words were curtailed by an infant’s angry
wail. Using a corner of her apron to dab at her red eyes, she man-
aged a watery smile.
“There’s Joseph, right on cue. Will you excuse me, Cheryl? I’ll
get him for you if you’d like to take a peek before you go.”
Cheryl laughed and motioned toward the hall leading off of
the kitchen. “Better hurry or we’ll have two squalling babies on
our hands.”
Rachel’s head bobbed in agreement. “That is true. It doesn’t
take Joseph long to get John riled up. I’ll be right back.”
Her rubber-soled shoes made barely a sound against the hard-
wood floor. Cheryl waited patiently, the soft ticking of the mantel
clock in the family room marking the seconds. It was certainly a
quiet life the Amish lived, with no hum of electricity to fill the air,
no squawking television to interrupt conversation or divert atten-
tion. A gust from the half-open window riffled the curtains, and
Cheryl realized she had even learned to appreciate the whisper of a
gentle breeze—something she’d never taken time to notice in
Columbus.
“John?”

Rachel’s voice carried from the nursery, a surprising note of
urgency adding sharpness to her tone. In the background, Joseph
continued to wail.
Cheryl furrowed her brow. “Rachel? Is everything all right?”
When she received no answer, she took a hesitant step toward the
hall. “Rachel?”
“John!”
A second later, the peace Cheryl had been appreciating was
shattered by a mother’s frantic scream.

Chapter Two
Cheryl pushed through the entrance to the Swiss Miss, closed
the door behind her with a firm click and locked it, then
flipped the sign. Closing time was still over an hour away, but this
was no ordinary workday and she couldn’t face customers. Though
the trembling had left her limbs, the sick feeling in the pit of her
stomach remained. Little John Swartzentruber was gone, and the
only explanation was that someone had stolen him from his crib
while she and Rachel sipped coffee and laughed.
Cheryl pushed away from the door. The Sugarcreek police had
been contacted and an AMBER Alert™ issued. Neighbors were
being questioned. Rachel’s husband, Samuel, and several of the
church elders had organized a local search. It was all anyone could
do, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
Naomi hurried around the counter toward her. “Anything?”
Anxiety pulled at her features just as her fingers pulled at the
white cotton fabric of the apron tied around her waist. It was
unnerving to see anything but steadfast peace on Naomi’s face—
on any of the faces of the members of the Amish community. Yet
everyone Cheryl had seen since the discovery of the missing infant
mirrored the same tense look.

Finally, Cheryl managed a slow shake of her head. “Nothing.
Rachel is devastated, as is Samuel.”
Sorrow soaked Naomi’s gaze. She sighed then lowered her face
while she smoothed the wrinkles from her apron. When she looked
up, a small portion of peace had returned to ease the lines of worry
around her lips and brow. “We will continue to seek Gott. His eye is
on that child as surely as it is on the sparrow.”
Seek God. Cheryl had done nothing else from the moment the
empty crib was discovered. All during the police questioning, she had
pleaded with the Lord for insight into John’s whereabouts...more
when she’d driven back to town and around Sugarcreek hoping for
the smallest clue or sign. Unfortunately, God remained silent and the
baby remained missing. Why, oh why, had Cheryl chosen today to
visit? Perhaps if Rachel hadn’t been distracted—
Naomi gestured toward the small table where the Vogel brothers
played checkers four times a week. “Sit. I’ve made tea.” Her warm
hands closed around Cheryl’s. “We could both use a cup.”
What Cheryl needed couldn’t be brewed in a teapot, but she
trudged to sit at the table. Moments later, Naomi returned and set
a wooden tray down with a clatter. She poured a cup and pressed
it into Cheryl’s hands.
“Now,” she said ﬁrmly, pulling out the other chair, “what
exactly happened at the Swartzentrubers’ farm?”
Tension gripped Cheryl by the shoulders. “I wish I knew. One
minute Rachel and I were enjoying a nice visit, and the next...”
She trailed to misery-sodden silence.

Naomi rubbed her chin thoughtfully with her thumb. “Cheryl,
did Rachel mention how long it had been since she’d laid the boys
in their beds?”
Naomi’s calm, practical approach revived Cheryl’s sagging
spirits. She pushed up in the chair to think.
“Well...I believe she said she had just gotten them settled
when I arrived.” She scratched her temple. “I remember thinking
she must have been up all night because she looked so tired.”
Naomi’s ﬁngers stroked the strings of her bonnet. “No doubt.
With newborns in the house, twins especially, sleep is a rare thing.”
She leaned forward in the chair, braced both elbows on the table,
and cupped her mug with both hands. “And how long was it before
she went to check on them?”
“I was there a little over an hour.”
Naomi’s brow furrowed. “Not a lot of time for someone to get
in and out again.”
Cheryl’s eyebrows rose. “They had to have been watching the
house.”
“And knew that Rachel would be preoccupied.”
Dread squeezed Cheryl’s heart. Naomi was thinking the same
thing she feared. “You think this was premeditated?”
“Don’t you?”
Cheryl blew out a breath, appalled that whoever had taken
John Swartzentruber had used her presence as a diversion. “Who
would do such a terrible thing? And why only take one of the
boys? It’s horrible to think about, but why would they snatch one
from his crib and not the other?”

Naomi shook her head, her dark brown eyes troubled. “I
assume the police questioned you?”
Cheryl shuddered. “Yes, though I don’t think I was much help.
And Rachel was too upset to recall much of anything.”
“Perhaps that will change once she’s had a chance to calm
down. I think I will send Levi by their place later with a canister of
my special medicinal tea. The chamomile in it is good for the
calming of one’s nerves.”
“I know you work wonders with your home remedies, Naomi,
but if it were me, I have a feeling it would take more than a cup of
tea to calm down, no matter how good it was. I’d only get more
upset as time passed.”
Naomi’s mention of Levi sparked a mental image of his face.
How would he react to such news? Heat washed through her as she
realized she already knew. He would look to God, ﬁnd peace and
strength in his faith, just like his father and stepmother—peace
Cheryl feared she might never again know.
Afraid of where her thoughts had taken her, she cleared her
throat and continued. “For now, we’re just supposed to make a list
of everything we can remember and turn it in to the police this
afternoon.”
“That’s goot.” Naomi rose and pulled some paper and a pencil
from the drawer under the cash register. Crossing back to the table,
she sat and wrote the date and time Cheryl had left the store in
neat, careful script.
As she’d done when questioned by the police, Cheryl recited
everything she could remember, from the time she’d arrived at the

farm to the moment Rachel had gone to check on the boys. She
even described in detail what she and Rachel had talked about.
“It was an ordinary visit, Naomi.” She gripped the handle of
her mug tightly. “I mean, shouldn’t there have been some warning
that something was wrong?”
Cheryl went still as a sliver of a memory flitted through her
brain.
Naomi looked up from the paper. “What is it?” When Cheryl
didn’t respond, she reached to clasp her fingers. “Cheryl? Are you
all right?”
Cheryl rose and paced the narrow space between the display
cases. When she reached the end, she turned and motioned toward
the door. “Naomi, I think we should go back out to the farm.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes shone expectantly. “You have
remembered something?”
“Maybe.”
“What?”
It was such a small thing, but the officer who’d questioned her
said every detail was important. She shrugged and raked her
fingers through her spiky hair. “Rufus.”
Naomi gave a puzzled frown. “Who?”
“The Swartzentrubers’ dog. He barked.”
Uncertainty mingled with doubt flashed across Naomi’s face.
“Dogs bark, Cheryl. What is unusual about that?”
Cheryl tugged her car keys from her jeans pocket and held
them aloft. “Maybe he saw something we didn’t.”
“And that helps us, how?”

In all honesty, she didn’t have a clue, but driving out to the
farm beat loitering around the Swiss Miss.
She jangled the keys. “It’s just a hunch, but I still think it’s
worth checking out. You coming?”
Naomi’s brows crinkled as she deliberated, and then she rose
from her chair with a determined nod. “Ja, I’m coming. Like you
say, it is worth checking out.”
The two left the store, and scant minutes later Cheryl pulled
into the Swartzentrubers’ driveway for the second time that day.
Police cars no longer lined the road in front of the house, but sev-
eral buggies were parked outside. In the gathering gloom of early
evening, they hunkered like funeral home hearses in one long row.
Naomi motioned toward the house.
“I will go inside, see if anyone has learned anything new. You
check on Rufus. If you find anything, send one of the children for
me.”
Cheryl nodded and waited until Naomi had slipped inside
before circling around to the fenced part of the yard. As before,
Rufus greeted her with a happy bark, completely unaware of
the turmoil affecting his owners.
“Sorry, boy,” Cheryl said, giving the old hound a pat on the
head. “No doggie biscuits this time.”
It took some effort, but she managed to finagle through the
gate without letting Rufus out. The dog stared up at her, his round,
soulful eyes full of question. He watched while Cheryl snooped
around the yard, and then he sniffed at her hands when she bent
to peer into his doghouse.

“Nothing, eh, boy?” Cheryl said, pulling her head from the
curved doorway.
In answer, Rufus snorted once and then bounded across the
yard to dig at a spot near the fence. The distraction allowed Cheryl
to finish her search of the yard in peace.
Not even a footprint.
Discouraged, she dusted off her hands and then braced them
on her hips to stretch her back. The air had turned colder now that
the sun had dipped behind a bank of gray clouds. Soon it would
disappear out of sight. Cheryl blew out a sigh. Could she have
been wrong about the bark being a signal?
At the fence, Rufus’s hindquarters waggled furiously. At the
very least, she could help him find whatever it was he was looking
for.
She picked her way across the yard and then bent to give the
dog’s collar a tug. “Move, boy. Let me see what you’re after.”
The hole Rufus had dug had grown to the size of a football and
stretched under the bottom of the fence, but aside from mud and
roots, she saw nothing to claim a dog’s interest.
She gave her leg a pat. “C’mon, Rufus, let’s go see how Naomi
is doing.”
The dog refused to budge. After only a quick glance in her
direction, he went back to sniffing at the ground—or more accu-
rately, the fence. He let out a low whine then flopped on to his side
and burrowed his nose in the hole.
“Rufus, c’mon.” She gave her leg another pat. “I promise I’ll
bring you a treat next time I come.”

At the word treat, his front paws clawed into overdrive.
“Rufus.”
Exasperated, Cheryl nudged toward the fence and peered over.
The cooler weather had turned the tall grass on the other side brit-
tle and brown. She couldn’t see anything, but obviously the dog
was aware of something beyond her sight. Curious now, she let
herself out of the gate and scurried to the section of the yard that
Rufus seemed determined to claim. Using her boot, she swept
aside the calf-high grass. After only a few steps, she spotted
the prize Rufus’s nose had told him lay just outside his domain.
Cheryl’s heart skipped as she crouched for closer examination.
It was a bone. Not the natural kind, but the store-bought dog-
gie treat that Cheryl kept with her on occasion when she visited.
When she wanted to keep the dog quiet.
Or when someone else did.

Chapter Three
Fortunately, the bag of carrot sticks Cheryl had tossed into her
purse before leaving the house that morning still snuggled in
the space between a pack of tissues and her wallet. After emptying
the uneaten vegetables into the trash, she managed to scoop up
the bone and fold it into the baggie without touching it—a pre-
caution that was completely wasted if the Swartzentrubers had
supplied the treat and it had somehow ended up outside the
fence.
Rufus whined as she tucked the bag into a pocket of her purse.
“Sorry, boy. This one’s not for you.”
Cheryl signaled Naomi from the doorway and then settled
onto the seat of her Ford Focus.
Naomi was slightly out of breath as she climbed in beside her.
“You have found something?”
Cheryl nodded faster than a woodpecker on an oak tree as she
held up the ziplock bag with trembling ﬁngers. “I think so. Look.”
Naomi examined it curiously. “Cheryl, this is a dog bone.”
“I know. I found it outside the fence.”
“So?”
“So what if the kidnapper used this bone, or one like it, to
distract Rufus while they snuck inside?”

Apprehension clouded Naomi’s face. “If this is so, should you
have touched it?”
Cheryl shook her head. “I didn’t touch it. I used the Ziplock,
but I doubt it matters. It’s a textured surface, which means collect-
ing fingerprints will be difficult if not impossible.”
Naomi nodded. The two of them had learned a little about
conducting investigations after someone began leaving mysterious
messages inside the Swiss Miss a few weeks back.
“Ja, that is true. Shall we speak to the Swartzentrubers? See if
they know how this bone came to be in their yard?”
Cheryl nodded, her hand already reaching for the door han-
dle. When neither Rachel nor Samuel claimed to have seen the
bone before, she and Naomi headed back into town to drop off the
contents of the baggie at the police station. As they passed the Old
Amish Store, a worried frown pulled at Naomi’s lips.
“Cheryl, the woman who was in the Swiss Miss this
morning...have you seen her before?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get a name either, and she paid
with cash, so no chance of lifting her name off a credit card receipt.”
“But she bought a baby toy, ja?”
She shrugged and turned off Main Street into the parking lot
of the Sugarcreek police station. “Lots of people buy toys, Naomi,”
she said, but she understood what Naomi was hinting at, and a
niggle of suspicion wormed into Cheryl’s head.
Naomi pulled at her bottom lip. “I suppose. Still, something
about the woman seemed strange to me. She was in such a hurry
to leave.”

Cheryl pondered that as she and Naomi strode up the sidewalk
and went inside. The woman had seemed a bit harried. What if her
urgency had been caused by the need to arrive at the Swartzentruber
farm before Samuel returned home? Perhaps whoever took the baby
believed Rachel would be there alone. Cheryl’s presence had simply
provided a welcome distraction.
Her steps faltered as she realized that the woman must have
seen the basket on the counter when Cheryl had pointed it out to
Naomi, or maybe she had overheard some of their conversation. It
wasn’t a far stretch to think the woman might have learned that it
was for the Swartzentrubers.
Fresh anger and guilt warmed her cheeks as she and Naomi
stopped by the desk of Delores Delgado, the police station recep-
tionist and all around girl Friday.
Cheryl pointed toward the back of the station. “Good morn-
ing, Delores. The chief in?”
She peered up at them from behind a pair of black-rimmed
glasses. “He is.” She cast a warning look over her shoulder then
dipped her head to whisper conspiratorially, “He’s a bit grumpy
though. Sure you need to visit with him right now?”
Cheryl stifled a groan. “Great. Do you know why?”
Delores shrugged and pushed a lock of frizzy dark hair behind
her ear. “The Swartzentruber kidnapping has him worked up.”
Hope flared in Cheryl’s chest. “Actually, that’s why we’re here.
Maybe we can help.”
Delores look skeptical, but she buzzed the chief’s office and
then waved Cheryl and Naomi in.

Good luck, she mouthed as they passed.
Indeed Chief of Police Sam Twitchell looked to have storm
clouds brewing over his head. He hunched over his desk, an entire
atlas worth of maps and paper spread out before him. He glanced
up as they entered and rose. “Mornin’, ladies. What can I do for
you today?”
“Thank you for seeing us, Chief,” Cheryl said. “We know
you’re busy.”
“That I am.” He gestured to a couple of chairs opposite his
desk and sat when they did. He wasted no time on pleasantries but
cut immediately to the chase. “So? Delores says you think you may
have something that could help with the Swartzentruber case?”
Cheryl reached into her purse and presented him with
the ziplock bag and its contents. He quickly conﬁrmed what she
and Naomi feared—ﬁngerprints would more than likely be
undetectable.
Cheryl leaned forward to press both palms on the desk. “What
about determining where the bone was purchased? Samuel and
Rachel said they’ve never seen it before.”
Naomi sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, the white
skin on her knuckles exposing her inner tension. “That’s right. The
kidnapper could have used it...”
Chief Twitchell held up a large hand in a move that Cheryl’s
father had done many times when staving arguments from his chil-
dren. “Ladies, please. I appreciate your tryin’ to help, but one dog
treat isn’t much to go on, especially a brand that can be purchased in
any grocery or pet store. I buy these same treats for my own dog.”

Cheryl blew out a disappointed sigh. She knew the bone
wasn’t much of a clue, but she’d hoped for a better response than
the one they’d just received. The tension in her stomach returned
full force.
Chief Twitchell straightened in his chair to direct a ﬁrm look
at Cheryl. “Besides, you have more important things to worry
about. Have you had a chance to work on that list I asked for?”
She plucked it from her purse and handed it to him. “It’s
everything I can remember. If I think of anything else, I’ll call
you.”
His cheeks wobbled as he nodded. “Good. Now I suggest you
two go on home. Especially you, Miss Cooper. A good night’s rest
might jog your memory.”
Except she doubted she’d rest—not with Baby John still miss-
ing and no one any closer to discovering where his kidnapper had
taken him.
A deep sigh did little to dispel the concern weighing heavily on
Cheryl’s chest as she and Naomi exited the police station. She let
the glass door slip from her ﬁngers and whoosh shut. “Well, I sup-
pose the chief is right. We probably should get some rest.”
“Probably.” Instead of moving away, Naomi eyed Cheryl
steadily, giving the distinct impression that she had more on her
mind.
“Although...” Cheryl scratched her temple, perking up a bit
as an idea struck. “It’s still rather early and neither of us have eaten
supper. We could always stop by Yoder’s and grab a quick bite
before we turn in for the night.”

Naomi tipped her head as though considering. “Well, tonight
is Elizabeth’s night to prepare the meal and the family knows to go
on without me if I’m not there...”
“And you know,” Cheryl continued, faster, “the Village Inn is
not too far off of Main Street. After we eat, we could pop in...just
to see if anyone new has checked in recently—anyone with a baby.”
“Or to see if the staff have noticed any strangers hanging
around town.”
Cheryl stuck out her hand. “Dinner?”
Naomi gave it a firm shake. “Dinner. And then we ask a few
questions.”
It beat going home to an empty house, where there was no
happy chatter to dampen the echo of Cheryl’s guilty conscience.
“Agreed.”
After gulping a hasty meal that did not include Yoder’s famous
cinnamon rolls, Cheryl and Naomi wound past the main street of
Sugarcreek until they reached a large, two-story inn with brick and
clapboard siding. Alongside it, two railroad cars had been con-
verted into guest suites. Though she hadn’t expected to stumble
on to any major clues at the first place they visited, Cheryl was still
disappointed when a conversation with the proprietors, Jeb and
Molly Bakker, failed to reveal any new information.
“I’m not ready to give up,” Cheryl said as they left the inn.
Naomi frowned, obviously as disappointed as Cheryl felt.
“There are several more bed-and-breakfasts and inns and such in
the area. We could check a couple and then finish up tomorrow if
we don’t find anything.”

Urgency filtered up from Cheryl’s midsection. She snapped her
fingers. “Yes. If the woman is staying in Sugarcreek or close by, some-
one is bound to know...or knew,” she corrected, realizing as she
spoke that the woman could have already hightailed it out of Ohio.
Naomi gestured in the direction of the Swiss Miss. “Your aunt
Mitzi used to keep a phone book at the store. Maybe if we look
through the yellow pages...”
“For what?”
“A list of all the hotels in the area,” Naomi said, frowning as if
Cheryl had lost her mind.
Chuckling, Cheryl tugged her cell phone from her pocket.
“We don’t need to look through the phone book. That’s what
search engines are for.”
“Search engines?”
“You type in your question, and the search engine ‘searches’ the
Internet for the information.”
“Like Google.”
Cheryl’s mouth dropped open. “How...?”
Naomi’s lips twitched then turned in a smile.
“Never mind.”
Naomi and her family managed without electricity. They
didn’t own computers, cell phones, or modern appliances, but that
didn’t mean they were ignorant of the world, even if they didn’t
take part in it. Not to mention that her children had gone, or were
still going through, their rumspringa.
Cheryl typed in her query and soon had a list of possible loca-
tions. The first two places were within walking distance, but their

elicited responses revealed nothing. They approached the third
place—an older Victorian-style house—with a little less enthusiasm.
A sign on the fence read Little Switzerland Bed-and-Breakfast.
“I know this place,” Naomi said, pushing open the gate. “Laura
and Frank Early opened it a couple of years ago. They bought it
from some friends of your aunt Mitzi who moved away to take
care of their elderly parents.”
The place was well kept and inviting. A wheat wreath adorned
a brightly colored door. A brick path led to cream-colored steps
framed on both sides with potted mums. And in honor of fall,
Indian corn spilled out from baskets carefully situated in the flow-
erbeds. It was exactly the kind of place Cheryl had dreamed of
calling home before Lance broke off their engagement.
For the second time that day, Cheryl tamped a bitter twinge.
Funny how he’d been surfacing in her thoughts lately, especially since
she’d determined months ago to close the door on that part of life.
Lifting her chin, she shook free of thoughts of Lance and
marched inside the bed-and-breakfast to the reception desk. See-
ing no one, she turned to Naomi and motioned toward a brass bell
on the counter. “Should we ring?”
Naomi nodded, and a few seconds later, a short woman with
graying hair entered from a hall near the back.
“Naomi Miller? How good to see you.”
She crossed to Naomi and offered a quick hug then turned to
Cheryl questioningly. “Who is your friend?”
Naomi extended her hand. “Laura, this is my friend, Cheryl
Cooper. She is Mitzi’s niece.”

The confusion cleared from the woman’s brow, replaced with a
sudden wash of warmth that Cheryl had grown to expect when
introduced in this way. One thing was for certain, her aunt had
been a well-known and loved figure of the community.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Early,” Cheryl said.
She waved dismissively. “Call me Laura. How is your aunt
Mitzi?” Laura asked after giving Cheryl’s hand a hearty shake. “We
sure do miss her around here.”
“I just got a letter from her. She’s loving it.” Cheryl smiled.
“Everything she writes exudes excitement. I definitely think she
made the right choice leaving for the mission field after all these
years. Except for when my uncle was alive, I don’t think she’s ever
been happier.”
Laura’s face beamed with pleasure. “I’m so glad to hear that.
Many times I heard your aunt Mitzi talk about what it would be
like to become a missionary. I’m thrilled that she found the cour-
age to follow that call.”
Though she missed her aunt, running the store had been just
the reprieve Cheryl needed. She nodded. “Thank you.”
Laura turned to Naomi. “Now, what can I help you ladies with
today? I know you’re not inquiring about a room.”
Naomi shook her head. “Not a room, exactly. More like a
guest list.”
Confusion returned to cloud Laura’s gaze. “Guest list?”
Naomi nodded. “Have you had any new arrivals in the past
couple of days?”

Laura shot an apologetic glance first at Naomi and then
Cheryl. “I’m sorry, Naomi, but we don’t share information regard-
ing our guests.”
Cheryl held up her hand. “No, no...nothing like that. Naomi
and I were just wondering if you’ve had any out-of-towners check
in recently. Maybe someone who has never visited before.”
Laura still appeared reluctant. Cheryl gestured toward a sofa
flanked by a set of overstuffed wingback chairs in the parlor. “If
you’ll give us a moment, we’ll explain.”
Laura only hesitated a second before proceeding toward the
sofa. Once they were seated, she fixed her gaze on Naomi. “What
is all this about?”
Naomi drew a deep breath, her clasped hands resting lightly in
her lap. “You heard about the Swartzentruber boy?”
She nodded. “Terrible. I take it there’s been no sign of him?”
Naomi shook her head. “None.”
Laura’s brows lifted. “And Cheryl was...?”
“Present when the baby was taken,” Cheryl said, her chest
tight.
Laura clucked her tongue sadly. “I’m so sorry.”
Cheryl scooted to the edge of her chair. “We’re sorry too,
which is why we decided to do a little investigating. You see, a
woman came into the Swiss Miss this morning.”
Drawing a breath, she quickly explained the reason for their
visit. As she spoke, a look passed over Laura’s face that could only
be described as apprehensive.

“And this woman you saw,” Laura said, her teeth worrying her
bottom lip, “you say she had dark hair?”
Cheryl motioned just below her chin. “Shoulder length. Neat.
Kind of a modern cut, if you know what I mean.”
“And she was thin?” Laura held up her hand. “About so tall
and wearing glasses?”
Both she and Naomi nodded. On Naomi’s face, Cheryl saw
reﬂected the same excitement that she felt.
“Not sure about the glasses, but I guess she could have put
them on later. So?” Naomi prompted. “Have you seen her?”
Laura looked from one to the other and then gave a slow nod.
“I believe so.” She lifted her palm before Cheryl could speak. “I
believe I’ve seen the woman you’re looking for, but I’m very sorry,
ladies. I’m afraid you’re too late.”
“Too late!” Cheryl sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”
Laura’s gaze passed between Naomi and Cheryl. “That woman
checked out several hours ago. I’m sorry, ladies. She’s gone.”

Chapter Four
Cheryl’s stomach settled to the very bottom of her shoes.
Though she’d heard the words correctly, a futile mixture of
hope and disbelief bade her repeat them. “Gone? Are you certain?
When?”
Laura nodded and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “The
woman you’re looking for is named Theresa Cox. She was a guest
here, but I’m sorry, ladies. She checked out this afternoon.”
A clock against the far wall ticked off the seconds. Dismay,
urgent and pressing, crept over Cheryl on icy fingers. If Theresa
was gone, and had been for several hours, she could be anywhere.
And in any direction. Akron-Canton was the closest large airport.
If she was headed there, they might never find her. Cheryl could
almost feel Baby John slipping farther away.
She grasped her knees to keep her hands from trembling.
Leaning forward, she fixed Laura with an earnest stare. “By any
chance, do you remember if Ms. Cox was alone and about what
time she checked out?”
“Yes, she was alone.”
No baby. The relief she felt at hearing those words made Cheryl
glad she was sitting. Her knees might have given way otherwise.

Laura motioned toward the front desk. “I wrote down the exact
time. I can look if you like, but really, I’m pretty good at remember-
ing these things. It was just after noon. Surprised me too.”
“Surprised you?” Naomi’s eyebrows rose. “Why? Was that too
late?”
She shook her head. “Not too late. The woman paid in advance.
She still had a whole day left on her tab. I normally need
forty-eight hours’ notice to issue a refund, but I told Ms. Cox I’d
do it since we didn’t lose any customers. We’ve got several empty
rooms. Business won’t start picking up again until right before
Christmas.” She shrugged. “She didn’t seem to care either way.
People with money don’t, I suppose.”
Curiosity piqued in Cheryl’s mind. That was odd. Maybe, if
she proved to be the kidnapper, she had actually planned to take
Baby John tomorrow and something had changed her strategy—
like the distraction provided by an unexpected visitor.
She swallowed the knot that rose in her throat. “Uh...did she
say why she was leaving early?”
Laura’s lips pinched into a thin line. “I assumed it was business
that called her away, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What about her car? Did you happen to see what she was
driving?” Cheryl pressed.
“I could check. We write it on the guest receipt so we know
which vehicles are in the parking lot.”
She rose, riﬄed through the receipts until she found the one
she wanted, then carried it back to where Cheryl and Naomi
waited. “Here it is. Says she drove a gray panel van, like the ones

florists use for making deliveries.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t
think she had anything to do with John Swartzentruber’s disap-
pearance, do you?”
“Let’s just say we’re not ruling anyone out,” Cheryl replied
carefully. “Anyway, thank you very much for your time. And if
Ms. Cox should happen to reappear, would you mind calling?”
She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to her.
Laura examined the number on the front and then shuddered.
“I’ll definitely give you a call. I sure hope they find that little
boy. I would just hate to think that all this time I was harboring a
fugitive!”
“Now, now,” Naomi soothed, “we did not say she was a fugi-
tive. In fact, we are only hoping to locate this woman so we can ask
her a few questions.”
“Of course.” Laura’s fingers shook as she slid the card into her
pocket and rose with them. “Thank you for coming by, ladies. I’ll
keep my eyes and ears open and let you know first thing if I learn
anything.”
Cheryl thanked her again, and then she and Naomi returned
to the car.
“I should be getting on home,” Naomi said, hurrying around
to the passenger side. “Seth will be wondering where I have been.”
“Home?” Cheryl stopped and turned to stare at her friend.
“But...shouldn’t we tell Chief Twitchell? Maybe he can put out an
APB on Ms. Cox or something.”
Naomi shot her a quizzical glance. “For what? Checking out
too early?”

“Of course not. But her actions are definitely suspicious.”
Cheryl reached for her door handle. “It may be just a hunch, but I
really think we need to find this woman. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
She slid onto the seat and waited while Naomi joined her. “My gut
tells me she’s our gal.”
Naomi did not look convinced as she snugged her seat belt
around her hips. Her gaze was troubled as she measured Cheryl
from across the car. “What is going on, Cheryl? Something is
bothering you.”
Cheryl jammed the keys into the ignition. “What do you
mean? I’m trusting my instincts, that’s all.”
Naomi shook her head. “I do not think so. I think it is some-
thing more troubling you. Do you want to talk about it?”
Cheryl flopped back against the seat. “Naomi, there is nothing
to talk about. Besides, I don’t think we can afford to waste any
time. This woman may have taken John Swartzentruber. If she did,
we need to figure out why and where she may be going with him.
That means checking airports, car-rental companies, bus lines,
maybe even trains. And we need to act fast, before she gets too far,
or we might never find him.”
The more she talked, the faster the words came. Finally Naomi
grasped her hand, the warmth of her fingers dragging Cheryl to a
shaky halt.
“Those are all goot ideas, ones I am sure the chief has already
considered.” She paused, and her face became solemn. “Cheryl,
this was not your fault. You know this, ja?”

Beneath her understanding gaze, Cheryl felt exposed and vul-
nerable. She squeezed Naomi’s hand rather than respond. She was
a loyal friend, and as such, she would always believe the best of
people, but the truth was, Cheryl did feel responsible, and the only
thing that would change that would be finding Baby John and
returning him to his family.
“You’re probably right,” she said carefully. “We should get
back. I wouldn’t want Seth to worry. He has enough on his plate.”
With that, Cheryl reached for the keys and started the car, glad
for the burst of warm air that wafted from the vents. It wouldn’t
drive away the chill surrounding her heart, but it would at least
force the ache from her fingers.
Cheryl hurried back through Sugarcreek toward the store. She
hadn’t stopped to consider it before, but she really was concerned
about causing Seth undue worry, and with no way to reach him,
she didn’t dare dally. It was a different way of life the Amish led,
one not dependent on voice mails and text messages, but it was
freeing too, in that she never saw Naomi checking a phone period-
ically the way others did. Nor was she tethered to a computer,
worried about missing e-mails.
A few blocks from town, Cheryl cranked the heat a little higher
then turned onto Main Street. “Is Levi meeting you at the store?”
“Ja, I think so. Seth will have sent him to meet me seeing
as the hour has grown late. He does not like me traveling alone this
time of year, especially with the weather getting colder.” She made
a tsk sound, but her lips curved in a smile. “That man. I keep

reminding him that I know how to take care of myself, but still, he
worries like a mother hen.”
Indeed, a familiar figure waited in the lamplight outside the
Swiss Miss as Cheryl pulled to a stop. The wide-brimmed hat
and blue collared shirt beneath a plain black jacket were recog-
nizable anywhere in Sugarcreek, but it was the broad shoulders
and casual posture that made Cheryl’s breath hitch. Her hand
went to her unruly hair in a vain attempt to coerce it into order
before she scrambled from the driver’s side to join Naomi on the
sidewalk.
Levi greeted Naomi and then turned and jerked the hat from
his head, exposing blond, ruffled curls. “Good evening, Cheryl.”
Cheryl swallowed against a suddenly raw throat. “Hi, Levi.”
The look he directed at her was fleeting, but it warmed her to
the core. She wrapped her arms around herself and consciously
worked to keep her feet from fidgeting.
Naomi jabbed her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of
the Swartzentrubers’ farm. “Has there been any word from Samuel
or Rachel?”
Cheryl had been wondering the same thing. Her gaze flew to
Levi.
With a shake of his head, his attention returned to his step-
mother, and Cheryl’s breathing returned to normal.
“Nothing.” He jammed both hands into his pockets, the mus-
cles along his jaw tensing. “Daed is with them still. He plans to
stay a couple of hours while Samuel works out a map for the search

party so that we don’t waste time crossing lines. He asked that I let
you know so you would not be worried when you returned home.”
She nodded.
Levi replaced the hat on his head and then gestured toward the
waiting buggy. “I thought I would see you home before heading
back to their place. There is not much more we can do tonight, but
I’d still like to stop one last time. I think it will help Samuel.”
“Of course. Thank you, Levi. That is very kind,” Naomi said
quietly then turned to give Cheryl a hug. “We will talk more in
the morning, ja?”
Something about the way she said it let Cheryl know Naomi
suspected what she was feeling inside, something only her mother
had ever been able to do. A sudden swell of emotion clogged her
throat. “I’ll look for you here first thing tomorrow. We have a lot
we need to discuss.”
“I agree.” Naomi looked from her to Levi, but she said nothing
more as she moved toward the buggy.
Levi stepped forward. His rugged features shone in the glow of
the lamplight, and his blue eyes blazed like bits of cobalt. “I was
hoping I would see you. I...wanted to...”
What? The possibilities buzzed inside Cheryl’s head like bees.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his breath puffing from
his lungs in fluffy white wisps. “I cannot stay long,” he continued.
“I need to get Naomi home.”
She nodded, afraid to hope that it was more than just casual
interest adding warmth to his tone.

“I was concerned when I heard you were at the house when
John Swartzentruber disappeared.”
The tense lines around his mouth returned, and his brow fur-
rowed. Cheryl’s pulse leaped. She wasn’t wrong. The affection and
tenderness in his voice matched the emotion reflected in his eyes.
It made her want to cry. How long had it been since she’d seen
concern for her welfare in a man’s eyes?
She blinked, fighting the burning gathering behind her eye-
lids, and then fumbled in her coat pocket for a tissue. “I just hope
they find him soon.”
“They will.” She looked up in time to see Levi’s jaw tighten.
He eased closer, not touching but within reach. “He’ll be all right,
Cheryl. Gott is watching over him.”
She knew without a doubt the words were true. What was it
her father always said?
“His eye is on the sparrow, Cheryl. I know He’s watching you.”
That meant Baby John too. So why was she so afraid?
“Are you sure you are all right?”
Levi’s gentle whisper made her weak in the knees. She closed
her hands into fists and sucked in a deep breath for strength. “I’ll
be fine, just as soon as we can bring Baby John home.”
His head dipped in an understanding nod. “Maam and Daed
would welcome you tonight if you would rather not be alone. I
can always sleep in the barn.”
She rubbed her hands over her arms, wishing she could brush
away the strange longing in her heart as easily. “I’ll be fine. Besides,
I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It is no imposition, Cheryl.”
The brief, urgent words hit her like a blow to the chest. Levi
was a strong, handsome man, and she was attracted to him. Sud-
denly her mouth went dry.
“I will follow you home,”—his voice lowered—“make sure you
arrive safely.”
“But Naomi is probably tired...”
“It is only four blocks. With a kidnapper running loose, she
will want to see you secure before we return to the farm.”
The air whooshed from her lungs. So he was thinking of Naomi,
not her. Chiding herself for the ridiculous disappointment she felt,
Cheryl dropped her gaze and ﬁshed her keys from her pocket.
“Thank you, Levi.”
He didn’t move away as she expected. Instead when she looked
up, he still watched her, a strange look of disquiet twisting his
handsome face.
“I am praying for you, Cheryl. I have not stopped since I heard
the news.”
He said it so earnestly, she almost believed there was more to
his words than he allowed himself to speak.
If she spoke now, or tried to around the lump in her throat,
she’d burst into tears. She spun toward her car. Levi was there
before her, opening the door and holding it while she swept inside.
Only after she’d snapped her seat belt in place did he push the door
shut and step back.
As promised, he followed her the short distance to Aunt
Mitzi’s cottage. She let herself in then dropped her keys on the

hall table, jumping over Beau in her hurry to reach the living room
window. Parting the curtains an inch, she watched as he wheeled
the buggy around and headed in the opposite direction out of
town toward the Millers’ farm.
Drawing back, she let the curtain fall into place and paced
slowly toward the kitchen. Aunt Mitzi’s cheerful collection of pot-
tery normally brought a smile to her face, but tonight she barely
glanced at them. She put a kettle on to boil, then sank into a chair
at the table to wait. And think. Several times she tried to reason
through the day’s events, but with every instance, thoughts of Levi
interfered.
What troubled her most about her conversation with him?
Was it that she’d not allowed herself to consider the danger Baby
John might be in or what might be happening to him, or was it
something more deeply personal? Something she’d dared not face,
but that crept closer every time she was confronted by Levi and her
growing feelings for him?
Cheryl pushed up from her chair and stormed to the cabinet
above the sink. She jerked her favorite cup from the shelf, gasp-
ing when it slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the
countertop.
“Oh no!”
Scrambling, she managed to right it before it dropped to the
floor. Careful examination revealed no cracks or chips in the pale
pink glaze. Relieved to find it no worse for wear, she set the cup
down and covered her face with her hands. Would this day never
end?

A warm, furry body rubbed gently against her legs. Cheryl
peeked through her fingers and watched Beau circle around her
left leg and repeat the motion against her right. It was more than
just the anxious prodding he did when he was hungry. Beau
seemed to sense her overwrought emotions and appeared to want
to offer comfort.
Scooping him up, Cheryl pressed her cheek into his furry side.
“Thanks, Beau. You’re a very good boy. I’m sorry I ignored you
earlier.”
He purred in response to her apology. She set him on the
counter, something she did not often allow, and pulled a canister of
treats from the cupboard and offered him one. He eyed it critically,
rubbing his mouth against her fingers and thumb before relenting
and plucking the treat from her hand. Dropping gracefully to the
floor, he scooted out of the kitchen, the black tip of his tail the last
thing she saw before he disappeared out of sight.
Cats. One could always depend on them—sometimes affec-
tionate, fiercely independent, but always reliably enigmatic. At
least they didn’t pretend to be something else.
The kettle whistled. She removed it from the stove, poured a
cup, and then added a chamomile tea bag.
Not like people, she realized, her thoughts winging to Baby
John’s kidnapper.
Or more specifically, men.
This time, instead of picturing Levi’s face, her rebellious brain
conjured Lance, and a weight she thought she’d discarded long ago
settled heavily against her chest.

“Why now, Lord?” she whispered, wiping a sudden swell of
moisture from her lashes. “Why think of him when I have so much
on my mind already?”
The hum of the kitchen lights ﬁlled the silence following her
question. Most nights, she didn’t mind the quiet. It was so diﬀer-
ent from the rush and bustle she’d known in the city. Sometimes it
even felt good to unwind, to let go of the clamor that once occu-
pied her days and let herself truly be still. Tonight, however, she
wished for something—
No, it wasn’t something she wished for, she realized with a
start. It was someone. She wanted someone to share the burden
weighing on her shoulders. Someone strong and steady, with a
faith that pulled her closer to God when she was weak. Someone
like Levi.
Sighing, Cheryl picked up her tea and carried it from the
room. It would be many long hours before her restless thoughts
gave way to sleep. And it would be even longer before her heart
found peace.

Chapter Five
Cheryl set out eagerly for the Swiss Miss the next morning.
Despite her fears, she’d fallen into a sweet and dreamless
sleep after finishing her tea, a fact she could only attribute to a
peace that surpassed understanding, given the state she’d been in
when she climbed into bed. Perhaps it had been Levi’s prayers, or
her own, that had finally settled her spirit.
Thinking of Levi brought a smile to her lips as she swung past
Aunt Mitzi’s gate and onto the sidewalk. His kindness wasn’t unex-
pected—the Amish were renowned for their generosity toward
others—but his concern had seeped into the hidden places of her
heart, and it lightened her steps as she passed Hoffman’s store and
the Sugarcreek Sisters Quilt Shoppe.
A breeze riffled the treetops, loosening the few remaining
leaves. Cheryl loved this time of year. The scents, the sound of the
season crunching underfoot, even the nip pinching her lungs as
she walked made her grateful.
She lifted her chin and snugged the edges of her coat tightly
together. Today would be a good day. She intended to contact all
of the municipal agencies to see if there had been any single women
traveling with an infant. With her help, the police would find

Baby John and put his kidnapper behind bars, and then things in
Sugarcreek would return to normal.
Overhead, the sun shone in happy agreement—a rare thing for
early November in Ohio. Gentle rays warmed the top of her head
and tickled her cheeks. She quickened her pace, drawing in another
lungful of sweet, country air. Yes, today would be a good day.
“Cheryl!”
She slowed at the sound of her name. Across the street, Naomi
waved, the sleeves of her cape dress fluttering like wings. With her
other hand, she clutched the bonnet to her head to keep the wind
from snatching it off her head.
“Cheryl, over here.”
Cheryl looked both ways and then hurried to join her friend
on the sidewalk. “What’s going on? I thought we agreed to meet at
the Swiss Miss?”
“We did.” Naomi’s cheeks puffed like a chipmunk with each
rapid breath, and she rubbed her hands briskly over her reddened
knuckles. “I thought you should hear this. Come.”
Grasping Cheryl’s hand, she pulled her up the street.
Cheryl huffed to keep up. “Wait, what’s going on? Where are
we going?”
“The Old Amish Store. I came into town early and had time
before the Swiss Miss opened, so I stopped to purchase a few
supplies.”
Skirting barrels stuffed with colorful fall flowers, she led Cheryl
along the sidewalk until they arrived at the store. She pushed open
the door and gestured toward the store’s proprietor, Ezra Wittmer.

Several years older than Cheryl or Naomi, Ezra sported a full white
beard and hair that grayed at the temples, but his back was strong
and straight and his blue eyes normally sparkled with humor. Not
today.
Today, concern troubled his gaze and his bushy gray brows
were lowered in a frown. Setting aside his apron, he greeted Cheryl
with a nod and then turned his attention to Naomi. “This scurry-
ing about is most unusual, Naomi Miller. Won’t you tell me what
it is that has your feathers in such a ruﬄe?”
Pressing her palm to her ﬂushed cheek, Naomi paused to
gather her breath. “Forgive me, Ezra. I did not mean to hurry out
of here so abruptly. It is just that, something you said...”
His frown deepened. “About the Englisch woman?”
She nodded.
“What Englisch woman?” Struggling to catch her breath,
Cheryl’s gaze bounced from Ezra to Naomi. She pressed her hand
to her chest. “What are you talking about?”
Naomi motioned toward the proprietor. “Tell her, Ezra.”
“I don’t understand...,” Cheryl began.
Though she prompted him, Naomi did not wait for Ezra
to explain. “Ezra said an Englisch woman was in here buying
Amish-made baby things,” she blurted hastily.
“Okay. And?”
“And when I asked him about her, he described someone who
sounds very much like Theresa Cox.”
Momentarily silenced, Cheryl blinked several times and then
looked at Ezra. “Is this true?”

“A woman was here, ja, but about this Theresa Cox?” He
shrugged. “Of that, I am not so certain.”
Cheryl repeated the description she’d given to Laura Early at
the Little Switzerland Bed-and-Breakfast. Ezra’s head bobbed at
intervals, and he tugged at the tips of his gray beard. “She definitely
sounds like the woman I saw.”
“And you’re sure this is the same woman who was buying
baby things from your shop?” Cheryl asked, her excitement
building.
Ezra scratched his head. “It could be her, I suppose. But I do
not understand why you two are so curious about her. What has
she done?” His gaze shifted. “Naomi?”
Naomi bit her lip, and an embarrassed flush crept over her
cheeks. “Well, to be honest, Ezra, we cannot be sure she has done
anything.” She glanced at Cheryl. “Perhaps we ought not be stir-
ring up rumors where there is no proof...”
“Wait...how did you even know she’d been by?” Cheryl inter-
rupted. “Did you see her?”
Naomi shook her head. “No. Ezra and I were chatting. He
mentioned what had happened, and it sounded so similar to the
incident at the Swiss Miss yesterday that I got excited and started
asking questions.”
Naomi’s bonnet strings fluttered like kite tails as she fidgeted
from foot to foot, and contrition painted bright spots on her
cheeks. “Perhaps I was wrong to assume so much. After all, the
woman has as much right to purchase baby toys and such in
Sugarcreek as anyone else.”

True, but not everyone else bothered to shop for them the
same day a baby was kidnapped. Perhaps living outside the gentle
community of Sugarcreek had colored Cheryl’s thinking, made her
suspicious and cynical. Or maybe it was the experience with Lance
that forced her to look beyond face value. Regardless, she wasn’t
taking chances. She directed her attention to Ezra. “Do you know
what time you saw Ms. Cox?”
Clasping her hands tightly to her chest, Naomi turned earnest
eyes to the proprietor. Cheryl’s heart rate sped as the details of her
conversation with Laura Early raced through her mind.
Laura said Theresa checked out just yesterday afternoon. If
Ezra spotted her after that, it meant...
“She came by first thing this morning, before I had even
opened the doors.” Ezra pulled several folded bills from a pocket
of his overalls. “I had just flipped the sign and was getting ready to
sweep the walk when she blew in as flustered as a wet hen and
asked if she could see our handmade toys and baby items.” He held
up the bills. “Paid with cash too. Would not even wait for me to
give her change. She said she was in a hurry and left.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. See? she mouthed to Cheryl.
He jammed the money back into his pocket. “I was glad I’d let
her in until Naomi started asking all kinds of strange questions.”
Worry twisted his wrinkled face. “This Englischer...I hope she is
not bringing trouble to our community. That is the last thing we
need after the strange things that happened a few weeks ago.”
Whether Theresa Cox brought trouble to Sugarcreek remained
to be seen. Her thoughts in a whirl, Cheryl thanked Ezra and then

she and Naomi left the store and headed across the street toward
the Swiss Miss.
“So what do you think?” Cheryl said while she and Naomi
went about the business of readying the shop for customers.
Naomi had brought several rounds of fresh cheese along with a
few tins of homemade fudge. Plus, she still had the new set of
Bible covers Levi had fashioned from leather. All of it would need
to be stocked before they opened. She arranged the last tin of
fudge on the shelf before moving toward the cash register.
Naomi stacked several homemade aprons on a shelf, her brow
furrowed and her lips pressed firmly. “I admit, I am very curious
about this woman, but we will have to be careful. It would not be
right to defame her character. It is possible she has a very good
reason for being in Sugarcreek.”
Bracing her elbows on the counter, Cheryl drummed her finger-
tips against her lips. Naomi was right, rumors could be damag-
ing...and hurtful. She’d learned that firsthand after her breakup with
Lance, and she never wanted to be guilty of causing similar pain.
“All right then, I suppose the best thing would be to see if we
can find this person so we can ask her some questions.”
Naomi left the half-stocked apron shelf and approached the
back counter. “Find her? How? We do not even know where to
look.”
Cheryl straightened. “Maybe I can visit the local hotels, see if
she’s checked in somewhere besides the Little Switzerland?”
Naomi nodded. “I could get Esther or Lydia to mind the shop
while you look.”

Cheryl’s pacing matched the frantic buzzing in her head. “That
would be good.”
“And perhaps I could pay a visit to the Swartzentrubers? See if
there has been any news?”
Cheryl rocked to a stop. “Wait...if you’re going out to check
on Rachel, I’d like to go with you.”
Naomi’s brows rose. “But I thought you said...”
“I have to, Naomi,” Cheryl interrupted, pressing one hand to
her stomach where a familiar tension had begun winding up.
“I need to make sure she’s okay, see if there’s anything she needs.”
Naomi crossed to her, the sorrow in her gaze matching what
Cheryl felt. “I understand. I will wait until you have ﬁnished
checking the hotels. Then we will head out to the farm together.”
“Thank you,” Cheryl breathed, glad for the insight that Naomi
always seemed to possess at just the right moments. She reminded
her so much of her mother and Aunt Mitzi. Maybe that’s what she
liked so much.
“Shall we meet back here around four?”
Cheryl did a quick calculation. She’d have to search the names
and addresses of every hotel and inn in town, but if she called the
ones farthest from town and visited the rest, she should have
plenty of time to meet Naomi by four. And she still wanted to call
the airports and car-rental places to see what information, if any,
they could give.
She grabbed her keys oﬀ the counter. “That works. Swing by
your farm and send Esther this way. While I’m waiting for her to
get here, I’ll log on and see what I can dig up.”

Naomi nodded and scurried out the door before Cheryl had
even reached her office. Once again, she was grateful for her
friend’s calm, sensible ways. Maybe some of that would rub off
while she was in Sugarcreek.
She paused, her finger hovering over the power button on
Aunt Mitzi’s ancient desktop computer. Aunt Mitzi hadn’t given a
time frame for when she would be returning from Papua New
Guinea, but it hadn’t really occurred to Cheryl to think about
what she might do once her aunt returned and Cheryl’s services
were no longer needed at the Swiss Miss.
Could she leave the friends she’d made here?
The question made her squirm, and she jabbed the power but-
ton with more force than necessary. She didn’t want to think about
leaving Sugarcreek, especially because it wasn’t Naomi’s face she
imagined when she pictured the people she’d be leaving behind. It
was Levi’s.
Anger flared in her chest as she pondered the events that had
driven her to Sugarcreek in the first place.
She went through the motions of booting up her computer.
She had no business thinking about Levi in that way.
No business at all.

Chapter Six
Cheryl rubbed a bit of the frustration from her temples and
then crossed another hotel off her list. Slumping against the
seat of her car, she expelled a weary sigh. Sugarcreek was not a large
town, but it brimmed with quaint inns and bed-and-breakfasts
run by elderly proprietors or young, energetic couples looking for
an escape from the city. Of the four places she had called, no one
claimed to have seen the mysterious Theresa Cox. The three she
visited garnered similar results. She could only hope the next stop
would be different.
Dropping the gear lever into drive, she eased out on to traffic
and turned for the Maple Leaf, a small inn located on the very
outskirts of Sugarcreek. If this stop proved futile, she would have
to widen her circle to include the larger hotels located closer to
the highways. Not only would that take time, it would add dis-
tance to a trip that already had her questioning the logic of the
endeavor.
Her car pinged, and Cheryl dropped her gaze to the light
flashing on her display. Low fuel. She’d have to fill up soon. Spying
a combination gift shop/convenience store, she pulled in and
rolled to a stop in front of the pumps. Gassing up took only a few
minutes with her little economy car, but a sign in the window

touting ice cold drinks beckoned her. She hadn’t stopped for
lunch. She grabbed her purse, slung the strap over her shoulder,
and headed for the entrance.
Inside, the usual non-Amish tourist trinkets lined the
shelves—mugs; magnets; and several colored, plastic knick-
knacks. Cheryl bypassed them and made for a cooler near the
rear of the store bulging with an impressive array of drinks and
colas. Selecting one, she veered right toward a quiet aisle, avoiding
the people clustered around the cheap souvenirs, and wove
through an aisle packed with more respectable wooden keep-
sakes. Amish keepsakes, she realized, drawing to a halt. And
many of them were items for babies and toddlers.
An idea sparking in her brain, Cheryl made a beeline for the
counter, paid for her drink and a candy bar, then pointed toward
the souvenirs. “Can you tell me who makes those?”
The young man standing behind the cash register gave a
one-shouldered shrug. “They’re Amish, I think. The owner gets
them from one of the local craftsmen.”
She ﬁngered through a display of chips on the counter. “Do
you always keep them in stock?”
He shrugged and held up a plastic sack. Cheryl shook her
head, indicating no need, and he pushed her purchases toward
her. “They sell pretty well, so the boss makes a point of keeping
them handy.” One eyebrow rose. “You’re the second person to ask
about them today.”
She licked her lips and leaned slightly over the counter. “Oh
yeah?”

He nodded. “Earlier this morning. A lady came in and bought
a couple. Cute girl, but she was in a big hurry. Too bad. I wouldn’t
have minded talking with her.”
Excitement bubbled up from Cheryl’s middle, but appearing
overeager might scare the young man, and he’d close up faster than
her old bank at quitting time. She lifted one eyebrow and pre-
tended to be only mildly interested. “It may have been a friend of
mine. Young lady about so tall?” She held her hand a touch above
shoulder height. “Brown hair and glasses?”
The glasses she added from Laura Early’s description of Theresa
Cox.
The young man nodded. “That’s her. Kinda pretty.” He pointed
at his left hand, and one corner of his mouth lifted in an impish
grin. “No ring, you know what I mean?”
So he’d found her attractive. And apparently, she was single.
Cheryl smiled back. “Yeah, I get it.” She jerked her thumb toward
the door. “She didn’t tell you where she was going, did she?”
“Not that I remember.” He braced both elbows on the counter
and gave Cheryl a saucy wink. “This ‘she’ you are talking about,
does she have a name?”
Cheryl wagged her ﬁnger in the young man’s grinning face and
then glanced at his name badge. “Ron, is it?”
He chuckled. “That’s me.”
“She’s too old for you, Ron.”
At least, that was her guess based on the brief glimpse she’d
gotten yesterday morning. Regardless, she had no desire to serve as
a matchmaker for a suspected kidnapper.

She motioned toward the baby aisle. “You wouldn’t happen to
know who else sells that kind of stuff, would you?”
“The baby stuff?” He straightened and gave an indifferent
toss of his head, making his chunky bangs flop into his eyes. He
brushed them aside with a casual swipe. “Pretty much everybody in
Sugarcreek. The Old Amish Store has them.” He scratched his temple,
thinking. “Oh, and I think the Gas-n-Go on the other side of town.”
Her thoughts winging in a new direction, Cheryl thanked the
young man, took her drink and snack, and left. Maybe she shouldn’t
be working so hard to try and find out where Theresa Cox might be
staying. Maybe she’d stumble on the answer if she focused her
attention on all the stores that sold Amish-made baby toys.
Beginning at one end of town, Cheryl worked her way
south, stopping at every gas station, gift shop, and general store
along the way. At several of the businesses, the owners thought
they remembered a woman fitting Theresa Cox’s description.
Always, it was baby things she bought, and always, she paid with
cash. Though none of the owners claimed knowledge of the
woman’s current whereabouts, Cheryl was satisfied enough with
the information she’d gathered by day’s end to head for the
Sugarcreek Police Department and Chief Twitchell’s office.
Rather than looking pleased to see her, he rolled his eyes when
she entered and sat back in his leather chair with a sigh. “Miss
Cooper. I thought I might be seein’ you today. To what do I owe
the pleasure?”
Great. She’d have a hard time getting him to believe her theory
if he wasn’t even prepared to listen. Playing a hunch, Cheryl

plopped into a chair opposite his desk and gestured toward a pen
and pad of paper he kept in the bin near the corner. “Nice to see
you too, Chief. May I?”
His brow wrinkled, but he leaned forward and handed her
the items then watched while she scribbled a hasty description
of Theresa Cox. When she finished, she pushed the pad back to
him and sat with her hands clenched in her lap while he read the
list.
He held up the paper by one corner and eyed her skeptically.
“All right, I’ll bite. What is this?”
Cheryl jabbed her index finger toward the list. “That, I believe,
is a description of our kidnapper.”
Frowning, he replaced the list on his desk and folded his arms.
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”
At least he was listening. Gulping a hasty breath, Cheryl
relayed the details of Theresa’s visit and everything she had learned
since the woman hurried from her store. As she’d feared, the chief
seemed only mildly intrigued and gave a slow shake of his head
when she finished.
“Miss Cooper...”
“Chief, I know it’s not much to go on,” Cheryl interrupted,
fighting the urge to sound desperate, “but you have to admit, this
woman’s actions are a bit suspicious, given the circumstances.”
He swallowed what he’d been about to say and agreed with a
grudging nod. “Okay, it is a little strange. But that doesn’t mean I
think this information is incriminating enough to start dragging
in suspects. Please understand, Miss Cooper, I need to be very

careful. The last thing this town needs is a lot of false rumors
circulating, especially after what happened last month.”
Cheryl’s optimism lagged with his last words. Abby Harper.
Right. Ezra had reminded her of the same thing when they’d asked
him about Theresa. The town was still reeling from discovering
they’d had an abusive husband in their midst. Adding a kidnapper
was beyond what their small town could handle.
Tapping her finger to her chin, she ran through her options
and settled on one. “Okay, but what about tracking this woman
down for questioning? That’s reasonable, right?”
“Now that, I can do.” Chief Twitchell shoved back from his
desk and lifted the note pad. “You say her name is Theresa
Cox?”
Her spirits reviving, she pushed to the edge of her chair. “Yes,
or at least that’s the name she gave when she checked into the
Little Switzerland.” Excitement flared inside her chest. “I could do
some more checking for you if you’d like...”
“More checking?” He peered sternly at her from beneath low-
ered brows.
Cheryl felt like she’d been caught sneaking home after curfew.
“Well...I...uh...” She cleared her throat. “I have done a little
investigating on the side.”
He laid his pencil down carefully and laced his fingers. “I
thought you said you merely asked the business owners around
town if this Theresa Cox bought any baby items?”
“That’s true, I did”—her cheeks warmed—“later...after I
called around to see if she had checked into any hotels.”

Exasperation colored Chief Twitchell’s face as he held up his
hand. “Miss Cooper, I’m going to have to insist that you allow me
and my officers to do our jobs.”
“But Chief Twitchell...”
He shook his head, cutting her off before she could protest.
“Do you believe this department is doing everything it can to try
and locate that missing baby?”
A weight settled on Cheryl’s chest, and she lowered her head
glumly.
“What about my expertise and that of my officers?” he per-
sisted, his tone curt. “Do you believe we have the knowledge and
experience it takes to check every lead that comes across my desk?”
“Of course,” she whispered.
He relented of his piercing stare and settled back against his
chair. “Good, then I hope you’ll believe me when I say that inter-
ferin’ in this investigation will only hinder our efforts.”
Cheryl knew enough to realize that everything Chief Twitchell
said was true. Still, the kidnapper had used her as the distraction
he or she needed to steal John from his crib, and that meant she
had to help, no matter what the chief said.
The chief’s eyebrows rose. “Miss Cooper?”
She lifted her chin and stood. Offering her hand, she gave
Chief Twitchell’s a firm shake before moving toward the door.
“Thank you for your time, Chief. Good luck with the investi-
gation. I hope the information I shared with you helps.” One hand
on the knob, she paused and turned back to look him in the eyes.
“You will let me know if you find out anything?”

His head swung slowly, side to side. “Now, now, you know I
can’t do that. Not until this thing is fully concluded and our kid-
napper is in custody.”
“Right,” Cheryl said, adding a halfhearted shrug. “You know
me, Chief. Just thought I’d ask.”
Chief Twitchell didn’t know it, but she had no intention of
staying out of his way. Closing the door behind her, she made a
beeline for the Swiss Miss. Maybe after she and Naomi had a
chance to compare notes, she’d have a better plan for how to
proceed. Maybe she’d even ﬁnd a way to convince the chief to
track down Theresa Cox. Her steps quickened.
So intent was she on her meeting with Naomi, she stepped oﬀ
the sidewalk and straight into a man’s broad chest, and only his
viselike grip kept her from tumbling headlong into the street. Star-
tled, she stared up, wide-eyed, into the glowering, bearded face of
Jeremiah Zook.

Chapter Seven
The frown cleared from Jeremiah’s face as he set Cheryl back
on her feet. “I am so sorry. Are you all right? Forgive me,
please. I did not see you there.”
Cheryl struggled for breath, too stunned for a moment to do
more than blink. Finally, she regained her balance as well as her
composure. Stepping back, she tugged her shirt and coat into place
and then ran her hand over her unruly hair.
“No, it was my fault. I should’ve watched where I was going. I
was in a hurry, and I...” She motioned helplessly toward the
police station. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”
Jeremiah’s gaze followed the direction of her shaking ﬁnger.
“You are leaving the police station? I hope everything is all right at
your aunt Mitzi’s store? After what happened last month...”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. Thank you, Jeremiah, every-
thing is ﬁne. I was just...” She dropped her hand. How to explain
to a grieving father the business that had brought her to see the
chief? She looked past him toward the buggy. “Never mind. It’s
not important.”
She sucked in a breath and forced a wan smile. “So how are
you and Rebecca? I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately. You’ve
been in my prayers, both of you.”

Suddenly, his expression closed, and the muscles in his jaw,
already clenched tightly, began to twitch. “Danki. We are saddened
by our loss, but Gott is goot. He will see us through this trial.”
The words were almost too perfect and spoken in an emotion-
less way that made Cheryl uncomfortable. Pushing her hands into
the pockets of her jeans, she tipped her head toward the buggy.
“So, uh, is Rebecca with you? I’d like to say hello, if you have
time.”
“No...uh...” He put out his arm and stepped between
Cheryl and the buggy. “I’m afraid she is not with me today.”
Squirming as though he were uncomfortable, he dropped his gaze
to a point somewhere near the top of his shoes.
Cheryl bit the inside of her lip. Jeremiah looked more than
just worn out, he looked stressed—understandably, given their
recent loss. Still, it was unusual to see an Amish man in rumpled
clothing and with dirt clinging to the cuﬀs. Also, his hair looked
slightly ragged and unkempt.
She swallowed nervously. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been out to
your farm. I’ve been meaning to visit.” She lowered her voice.
“How is Rebecca doing?”
His gaze darted nervously to the police station and back. Clutch-
ing the brim of his hat, he pulled it lower over his eyes. “My wife
will be ﬁne in time. If you will excuse me now, I have business I
need to see to. I will tell Rebecca that you asked after her welfare.”
“Of course. Good-bye, Jeremiah.”
He spun and headed up the street. Cheryl studied his shoul-
ders, more angular and hunched than ever beneath the cotton

fabric of his blue shirt and black coat. Something about the man’s
behavior seemed particularly odd, and not just that he avoided
looking at her. He seemed to want to avoid speaking to her as
well.
Determined to figure out why, Cheryl hurried a few steps to
catch up. “Jeremiah, wait.”
His coat swung limply as he turned to wait for her. “Ja? You
need to speak with me?”
“Yes, I...” She licked her dry lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I
ever told you how sad I was to hear about the loss of your son.”
Grief shadowed his brown eyes and passed, like a cloud float-
ing over the sun. He squared his shoulders and offered a brief nod.
“Danki.”
Cheryl held out her hand in a helpless gesture that echoed
exactly how she felt inside. “If there is anything I can do...”
“No.” He choked out the word and averted his gaze. “There is
nothing anyone can do.” As though sensing how his words
sounded, he shifted his weight and shrugged. “But I am grateful to
those who try.”
“I understand.”
She stepped closer but did not lay her hand on his arm in a
show of comfort as she might have done with an Englischer. That
was not something he would appreciate, even if the sentiment
were sincere. Still, she wanted to do something.
She tapped her chin, thinking. “Perhaps I could come by later
and check on Rebecca. I’m not nearly as good a cook as she is, but
I would be glad to put something together...”

His head jerked up. “Rebecca has left town, Cheryl. I do not
expect her back for some time.”
She fell silent, then stammered, “L...Left town?”
He stared back, unblinking.
“But...where did she go?”
“I am sorry, Cheryl. That is family business.”
He said it sharply, with a dark glower that brooked no further
inquiry. What he really meant was that it was none of her business.
Cheryl swallowed nervously. Granted, she hadn’t known the
Zooks long, but they had been one of the ﬁrst families to welcome
her to Sugarcreek and did not treat her as an outsider or even an
Englischer.
She backed away, her cheeks warm. “Of course. Forgive me,
Jeremiah. I didn’t mean to pry.”
At her awkward apology, he tipped his hat and moved oﬀ.
“I’ll see you later,” she mumbled lamely at his retreating back.
All the way to the Swiss Miss, a brisk wind swirled dust and
leaves around Cheryl’s feet, the pattern as chaotic and jumbled as
her thoughts. She was troubled by Jeremiah Zook’s odd behavior.
And what about Rebecca Zook leaving town? Surely, she and her
husband needed each other right now. What could possibly have
driven her away?
By the time Cheryl reached the store, dark suspicion germi-
nated in her thoughts and she struggled to get ahold of it before it
took root. She looked forward to Naomi’s arrival so that she could
ask her opinion and kept one eye on the door while she rang up
customers and stocked shelves.

At a quarter of two, her part-time helper and Esther’s best
friend, Lydia Troyer, waltzed in, her black curls bouncing, and
waved a cheery greeting. She was good in the store, always willing
to work hard, and she learned quickly. Plus, though she was obvi-
ously enjoying her rumspringa, she demonstrated an admirable
sense of responsibility, and Cheryl never had to worry about her
arriving on time. Cheryl put her to work sorting the new inven-
tory of shirts she’d received and then returned to stocking while
she thought about Jeremiah and his wife’s strange departure.
A child disappeared and then a woman did the same shortly
after? Why would she do that? The implication was terrible to
contemplate, but what else could she infer?
Finally, the bell chimed and Naomi stepped in. She brushed a
few leaves from her heavy wool shawl then tugged it from her
shoulders and draped it over her arm.
“There you are.” Cheryl dropped the potholders she had been
arranging on hooks, grabbed Naomi’s hand, and dragged her
toward the oﬃce.
“Cheryl, what is wrong?”
“Nothing.” She closed the door and pointed toward a chair.
“Or maybe something. I’m not sure.” Taking the seat next to
Naomi, she frowned and ran a hand through her short, spiky
hair.
“What do you mean?” Naomi had obviously gotten chilled on
the way over. Her words had that strange lisp that came when a
person’s cheeks froze over and their lips refused to move. She
pulled a tissue from the box on Cheryl’s desk and dabbed her nose.

“Were you able to find out anything about the mysterious Theresa
Cox?”
“Now that is an interesting story.”
Cheryl sat forward, a bit of the excitement she’d felt earlier
returning. Not sparing the details, she went over the steps that had
led her to Chief Twitchell’s office and his subsequent response.
She drummed the desktop in frustration. “I don’t know,
Naomi. I suppose he’s right about the evidence not being incrimi-
nating enough, but don’t you think it’s at least worth looking
into?”
“Did he say he would not?”
“Well, no, but the way he acted made me think it wasn’t high
on his list of priorities.”
Naomi watched her with a wary look in her eyes. “Hmm. I
know that look. What are you thinking?”
“What look? What makes you think I’m thinking
something?”
She chuckled and pointed an accusing finger at her. “That
innocent act will not work on me, Cheryl Cooper. I know you too
well. What is going on inside that head?”
Answering with a grin, she shrugged. “Just an idea, at the
moment. I have something else I’d like to ask you about first.”
She started to tell her about her encounter with Jeremiah.
Unfortunately, at that precise moment, the bell above the door
rang, and Cheryl excused herself to help her customers. When at
last the woman and her young daughter left, a bag full of Naomi’s
jams and fresh cheese clutched in their arms, the hour for closing

neared. Cheryl said good-bye to Lydia then flipped the sign and
locked the door before seeking Naomi once more.
Naomi met her at the office door. “I’ll help you close up.” She
motioned toward the cash register. “You get started on the receipts,
and I will tidy up. Then we can head out to the Swartzentrubers’
farm. We will talk in the car.”
Nodding, Cheryl hurried to bundle everything from the cash
drawer and slip it into a bank bag. Business must have been good
while she was out. She’d have a healthy deposit in the morning.
When she finished, she grabbed her purse and joined Naomi on
the sidewalk.
“Ready?”
Naomi nodded, and the two of them walked quickly back to
the cottage to fetch Cheryl’s car for the ride out to see Rachel.
Along the way, Naomi filled her in on the talk filtering among the
Amish.
“The elders are concerned it was not a random kidnapping,
but one specifically targeting an Amish child.” Her face paled with
worry.
“Why would they think that?”
Naomi shrugged. “There have been crimes against the Amish
before, and for no more reason than that.”
True. Cheryl pondered this new angle as they drove the rest of
the way to the farm. Ohio was a big state, and known for its large
Amish populations. If someone wanted to target an Amish family,
Sugarcreek would have been an obvious choice. She shuddered.
Could she have been wrong about the kidnapping all along? And

if so, what did that do to their list of suspects? Suddenly, any num-
ber of people could be guilty, and the odds of finding Baby John
seemed considerably smaller.
When they pulled into the drive, where a number of buggies
parked, Naomi grabbed Cheryl’s hand and they bowed their heads
for silent prayer before trudging up the path toward Rachel and
Samuel Swartzentruber’s door. Even the house looked sad—the
eaves and gutters drooping beneath the weight of sodden leaves.
Naomi noticed too.
“Tomorrow I will send Eli or Caleb to clean them,” she said,
tipping her head in the direction of Cheryl’s stare.
Her thinking shifted to the Swartzentrubers. What would she
say? What words could she utter that might possibly offer even
the smallest measure of comfort? Her gaze drifted to the porch
and the several bundles of cards and flowers that the people of
Sugarcreek had placed there. One of them read, Our thoughts and
prayers for our Amish friends.
Cheryl blew out a sigh. Why, God? Why would anyone do such
a terrible thing to such a sweet family?
Their booted feet scraped on the cement pavers, shushing out
any answer that might have come. Blowing out a sigh, Cheryl
drew her shoulders back and raised her hand to knock. Rachel
would need a strong shoulder to cry on, not a frightened woman
as desperate for answers as she.
The door opened a crack on the second knock, and Rachel
peered out, her eyes reddened and swollen from crying. Catching
sight of them, she pushed open the door and burst into a fresh

round of weeping, both hands covering her face and her thin
shoulders shaking beneath the folds of her dark blue cape dress.
Grasping her elbow, Naomi steered her past the living room
where the hum of many voices drowned out thought. Cheryl
followed close on their heels. A small den opened off of the kitchen,
and Naomi directed them there, no doubt to hide them from
curious stares. In one corner, a wooden rocker hunched next to a
large field stone fireplace. Naomi helped Rachel to sit then gave
her hand a pat.
“Rest a moment and catch your breath. I will make us a pot of
kaffee.” She directed a look to Cheryl. With just the slightest
inclination of her head, she indicated that she should keep an eye
on Rachel.
Obediently, Cheryl sat down next to Rachel and then pulled a
tissue from her purse and pressed it into her shaking fingers.
“There, there now,” she cooed in a voice that never failed to
comfort when her mother used it. “It’ll be all right.”
After a moment, Rachel sniffed and then blew noisily into the
tissue. “Thank you.”
Cheryl sat helplessly by, unsure what to do now that she’d
stemmed Rachel’s bout of weeping. She used the arms of her
chair to push to her feet. “I think I’ll go help Naomi with that
coffee.”
Rachel nodded, and Cheryl scurried to the kitchen where a
wealth of food and dishes waited, including a plate loaded with
Greta Yoder’s cinnamon rolls. Farther down the counter, the warm,
spicy scent of Mary Mueller’s apple pie wafted temptingly.

For a moment, sorrow dragged Cheryl’s steps. So the Amish
were prone to the same outpouring of culinary care that was often
witnessed at Englisch funerals. Weddings too. Today was neither.
She plucked at the cellophane cover on a dish of baked pasta.
“How is she?” Naomi had pulled a tin of coffee from the
cupboard and was setting a pot of water to boil.
Cheryl shrugged and crossed to the cupboard to fetch the
cups. “She’s distraught. I...didn’t know what to say, so...”
She trailed into dismal silence. Naomi set down the tin and
squeezed Cheryl’s shoulder.
“You were with her the day our Baby John disappeared. I have
the feeling she wants to speak to you. Why don’t you go back in
and just say what is in your heart? I am certain she would like to
hear it.”
What was in her heart was fear. And guilt. Cheryl blew out a
breath and forced herself to return to the den. Rachel sat rocking,
her arms pulled tightly around herself, her gaze fixed on the hills
outside her window.
Cheryl grabbed a chair and dragged it over to sit next to her.
“The coffee will be ready soon.”
“That’s nice,” Rachel said, though really, Cheryl wondered if
she’d even heard.
For several seconds, they sat in silence, the rumble of the
rocker against the wood floor the only sound. Naomi had urged
Cheryl to say what was in her heart, but how exactly did she do
that? She lowered her head.

Help me, Lord.
The weak prayer rattled in her thoughts. She licked her lips
and dragged her eyes to Rachel’s waxen face. “I’ve, uh, been pray-
ing for you, Rachel. How are you doing?”
She shrugged.
It was a silly question. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“I understand the police...”
Rachel turned her eyes to meet Cheryl’s. There was agony in
their depths, and pleading. Cheryl grasped her hand, hot tears
burning her eyelids.
“I am so sorry, Rachel.”
Her brow wrinkled with confusion. “You have nothing to be
sorry for, Cheryl.”
Maybe not, but then why did she feel such guilt? “Thank you
for saying that, but to be honest, I’m not so sure.”
The rocking slowed, and Rachel eyed her with confusion.
Cheryl swallowed a sudden knot in her throat. “See, I can’t
help thinking that maybe if I hadn’t stopped by that morning...if
I hadn’t kept you talking so long...well, maybe you wouldn’t have
been distracted. Maybe you would have heard a noise or some-
thing, or gone to check on the boys sooner.”
The words came faster, and with them a pain in her chest that
grew sharper the more she spoke.
Rachel reached out and clasped her hand. “I do not blame
you, Cheryl. I blame whoever did this. Whoever took my boy...”
She choked on a sob.

Unable to say more, they waited in silence until Naomi joined
them bearing a tray and three cups of steaming coffee. She passed
one to each of them and took the third for herself before sitting
opposite them on the couch.
Naomi took a sip from her cup. “Where is our Baby Joseph?”
In the somber stillness, even a whisper sounded harsh. Rachel’s
chair creaked as she stiffened, and panic flitted across her face.
Naomi reached over to grasp her hand.
“Is he with Samuel’s mother?”
The lines of fear melted from Rachel’s face, replaced by a
dazed, vacant stare that filled Cheryl’s heart with worry.
“Yes, that’s right. Samuel’s mother has him.”
“He is in good hands then.”
Rachel collapsed against the back of the rocker as though
the very last bit of strength had suddenly seeped from her bones.
She wrung her hands nervously in her lap. “I should be doing
something.”
“You have done all you can,” Naomi assured her.
Then, because the silence called for more, Cheryl added, “I
take it there hasn’t been any word from Chief Twitchell?”
“Nothing.” Her voice splintered into a thousand tiny slivers.
“The police...have put out...an APB but...they don’t even have
a possible suspect yet. How in the world are they gonna find my
baby if they don’t even know where to look?”
For a moment, Rachel’s speech slipped from the precise way of
speaking she had adopted when she joined the Amish to the
clipped slang she’d used growing up. Cheryl thought she had

forgotten her Englisch ways, so hard did she try to fit in. Cheryl
took Rachel’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze.
Naomi leaned forward. “Rachel...”
Fresh tears brimmed in the young woman’s eyes. Naomi hesi-
tated and lines of worry creased her face. “Rachel, have you con-
tacted your maam and daed?”
Rachel dropped her gaze and a stray lock of limp, brown hair
slipped from the bonnet slapped haphazardly on her head.
“My parents have not been informed,” she said. Just that quickly,
she switched back into her careful, measured speech. Her fingers
trembled as she shoved the hair into place. “They would not want
to know. It will make no difference to them that John is missing.”
“How can you say that? Of course they’d want to know,”
Cheryl insisted and then regretted her hasty speech when Rachel’s
gaze skipped from Naomi to her, the hurt and regret swimming in
her eyes agonizing to see.
“You are wrong, Cheryl. I know because they were not happy
when they heard that I was pregnant. They thought I had ruined
my chances of ever coming home. I guess, in their minds, there
was always hope that I would come to my senses.”
She snorted wryly. “John is named after my father, you know,
and Joseph after Samuel’s father. We thought it might soften my
parents’ resolve to have one of the boys be his namesake. Instead,
they pushed us further away. They have not come to see the boys
since they were born. Not once.”
Sorrow knifed across Naomi’s face. Their gazes locked, and
Cheryl knew that she was thinking of Seth and the pain he’d

suffered after losing his daughter, Sarah, when she eloped follow-
ing her rumspringa. Cheryl nodded silent encouragement.
Naomi smoothed the wrinkles from her dress while she formed
a response. Though her chin quivered, her voice remained steady
and strong. “We have all made mistakes, done things we later regret.
Look at my Seth. For years after he lost his first wife, he fought not
to let feelings of grief and bitterness consume him. But it was diffi-
cult, Rachel. His daughter, Sarah, always feared that he blamed her
for her mother’s death because she died giving birth to her. Even
when he tried to reassure her, she never felt accepted by him.
“Seth blamed himself when she left Sugarcreek to marry an
Englischer. He thought he’d let her and Ruth down by not show-
ing Sarah how much he loved her. He still looks for ways to make
peace with her. And he will never, ever stop trying to win her back,
no matter what she has done.”
She laid her hand on Rachel’s arm. “Your parents love you, Rachel,
no matter how it seems right now. Perhaps if you told them...”
Rachel had always been thin, but her hand looked frailer than
ever as she raised it to halt anything more Naomi might say on the
subject of her parents. She rose, and Naomi and Cheryl rose with her.
“I would not add to my husband’s pain by subjecting him to
their rejection. Again. They did not approve of my decision to join
the Amish. They said so when I married Samuel. Thank you,
Naomi, for trying to help, but this changes nothing.”
Her fingers shook as she swiped the tears angrily from her
cheeks. “I should check on Joseph. Thank you both for stopping
by.” She turned her gaze to Naomi. “Perhaps, if you have time to

spare, you could assist with the meal? The men will be hungry after
being out all day searching.”
“Of course.”
Rachel gave a nod of thanks and then hurried from the room.
Cheryl raked her ﬁngers through her hair in frustration. “Wow.
That poor girl. I’ve never seen anyone hurting more than she is.”
She turned to Naomi. “So now what?”
She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I have no idea. I
cannot imagine the pain of being forcibly separated from a child.
To allow it by choice is a decision I simply cannot fathom.”
Cheryl understood the look of dismay that creased her friend’s
features. Family was very important to the Amish people. Once,
Cheryl had thought them to be cold, caring more for the exercise
of their religion than the people involved in it, which was an
assumption based on what she knew—or thought she knew before
coming to Sugarcreek—about the practice of shunning. Now she
realized the motivation behind the concept, as well as the heart-
break such a decision caused to the entire community, not just the
family. It was no wonder so many districts had let the practice fade.
“It is like her parents have shunned her,” Naomi concluded,
echoing Cheryl’s thoughts. Naomi shook her head sadly. “And I
fear their rejection, especially now, will be more than that poor
child can bear.”
A sigh seeped through Cheryl’s lips. “So what can we do?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid. With Rachel adamantly refusing to con-
tact her parents, our hands are bound. Still...”
“You’re not comfortable leaving her parents in the dark.”

Twin splotches of red appeared on Naomi’s cheeks. “It feels
dishonoring to them, regardless of what Rachel says. Besides, given
time and distance, she might rethink her decision, but by then the
damage could be irreparable.”
Sighing, Cheryl trudged toward the kitchen to help Naomi.
Making sandwiches was a far cry from catching a kidnapper, but
right now she could use a menial task to take her mind oﬀ of the
troubling thoughts plaguing her mind.
If only cleansing her heart could be cured as easily.

Chapter Eight
The next day passed quickly, and Cheryl was thankful for
Naomi’s invitation to dinner. It meant she wouldn’t have to
spend another evening alone with her thoughts. Doubt had bat-
tered her after leaving the Swartzentrubers’ house the day before
and left her feeling exhausted and careworn. She locked up the
store then headed eagerly home to feed Beau and fetch her car
before making the drive over.
The distance to the Millers’ farm was relatively short, and she
looked forward to a home-cooked meal. Not that she didn’t
enjoy spending time in the kitchen. She’d actually dreamed about
caring for a family...once. There simply didn’t seem to be much
point now, given that she cooked for herself alone. Besides, noth-
ing she’d ever put together compared to one of Naomi’s renowned
roasts.
The savory scents of pepper and sage filled the air as she entered
the two-story farmhouse. As usual, happy chatter floated from the
family room as the Millers gathered after a hard day’s work to relax
and enjoy one another’s company.
Elizabeth, Seth and Naomi’s eighteen-year-old daughter, was
the first to notice her presence, and she swept up from the sofa to
hurry across the hall. Clasping Cheryl by the hands, she drew her

in from the hall with a cheery smile. “Cheryl! How good to see
you. Have you come for dinner?”
At Elizabeth’s announcement, all heads turned, including
Levi’s, Cheryl noted, and she wished she had taken a moment to
freshen up before leaving the store.
“Um...yes, actually, assuming you have room for one more.”
“Of course we do,” Esther said, giggling as she dashed off to set
another plate at the long, plank-style table.
Naomi entered from the kitchen, where she’d undoubtedly
been putting the finishing touches on the meal. “Hello, Cheryl. I
am so glad you could join us.”
One by one, the Millers crossed to say their hellos, and then
Seth motioned her into the family room. Eli stood and motioned
for Cheryl to take his place on a sturdy, leather-covered sofa next
to Levi. Whether Levi noticed her presence or not remained a
mystery, for he kept his gaze fastened to the floor, his hands, the
window—everywhere except on her.
Conversation resumed after a moment, with the elder Millers
teasing Esther about her rumspringa or “running around time.” It
amused Cheryl to watch the various interactions and made her
miss her own parents at home in Seattle, where they tended a
large church. She determined to call them and then felt a twinge
of nostalgia thinking of her dad’s voice and her mom’s gentle laugh.
She even missed her brother’s teasing.
“Are you all right, Cheryl?”
She glanced at Levi, startled.

He inclined his head toward her, and twin creases formed on
his brow. “You sighed just now, as though something were bother-
ing you.”
She let out a soft laugh and shrugged. “I was thinking of my
parents, is all.”
“You miss them?” Compassion darkened his eyes, and he
leaned closer.
“I do.”
“Then why not plan a visit to see them?”
Because I’ve never worked up the courage to talk to them about
Lance. The answer rose to her mind unbidden. She ducked her
head quickly. “I’m sure I will soon. I’ve just been too busy with the
store. Hopefully I’ll ﬁnd time to go for a visit after the holiday
rush.”
He gave an approving grunt. “That is goot. Families should
always keep in touch, even when there is distance between them.
It keeps the members close.”
He turned his face away, his attention drawn to something
Seth was saying. Cheryl felt released to breathe freely again until
something Naomi had said earlier came back to ring like a clarion
in her head.
“It is like her parents have shunned her.”
She gazed at her friend, sitting so contentedly at her husband’s
side. Cheryl had by no means been shunned by her parents, nor
had she closed them out of her life, but she’d been so concerned
about what they might think about her breakup with Lance that

she’d diminished contact with them in recent months. She regret-
ted that now, thinking about the division between Rachel and her
parents.
Naomi rubbed her hands together. “All right then, who is
hungry?”
At her signal, the family rose and shuffled single file to their
places at the table. Once again, Cheryl found herself seated next to
Levi, a happy coincidence that neither vexed nor worried her.
Instead, she determined to enjoy the meal rather than fret over
circumstances for which she had no control.
After supper, the entire family chipped in to help wash the
dishes and put them away. It reminded Cheryl of a scene from
a movie, with everyone laughing and working together to accom-
plish the job quickly. When they finished, she and Naomi escaped
to the den with cups of steaming coffee in their hands while the
men went outside to finish up their chores and the younger
ladies set about stitching on a quilt started for Elizabeth’s hope
chest.
Cheryl took a sip from her cup, thoroughly content just to
savor the remains of the day.
“So.” Naomi gestured toward a worn leather armchair. “Now
we can finish our talk.”
Our talk? Cheryl lowered her cup and frowned.
Naomi waved both hands. “With all of the busyness yesterday,
and then the trip to the Swartzentrubers, you never did finish tell-
ing me what happened after you left the police station.”
Cheryl set her cup aside. “Of course. Where were we?”

“You had just told me about your visit with Chief Twitchell.”
“Oh yes.” Organizing her thoughts into stiff order, Cheryl
recounted her dim view of the chief’s casual response to the infor-
mation she’d spent all day gathering. “And I definitely believe we
ought to be spending our time finding out everything we can
regarding Theresa Cox’s whereabouts,” she repeated, emphasizing
her opinion with a sharp rap of her fist to the arm of her chair. “No
matter what the chief thinks.”
“I agree.” Naomi pursed her lips. “It may just be that the chief
has other leads he feels are more important, but regardless, it can-
not hurt to help where we can.”
“Which reminds me…” Cheryl tapped the rim of her cup.
“Didn’t you say you planned to pay a visit to Rebecca Zook?”
“I did, though I have not yet made the time. Why?”
Cheryl scooted to the edge of her chair. “Because I saw Jeremiah
yesterday. He told me Rebecca has left town.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “What?”
She nodded. “It was a little odd, actually. I ran into him outside
of the police station. Literally. I ran into him. I was lucky I didn’t
end up in the street.”
Naomi laughed, and Cheryl grimaced at the reminder of her
clumsiness.
“Anyway, I asked him how they were doing and told him I’d
been meaning to stop by.”
“That was nice. What did he say?”
“Apparently he didn’t think so.”
Naomi’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

Cheryl gripped the arms of her chair tightly. “Look, I realize
there’s a lot I am still learning about the Amish culture, but is it
common for the men to be so secretive?”
A frown curved Naomi’s mouth. “It is common for them to be
reserved. Look at my Seth. But secretive? No, that is not common.
Why do you ask?”
Cheryl shook her head. “This was more than just reserve.”
Slowly, she reviewed her encounter with Jeremiah, including
the strange way he’d refused to meet her eyes when she asked about
his wife. “Am I reading too much into his behavior?” she
ﬁnished.
Concern marred Naomi’s face as she rose to pace, her rub-
ber-soled shoes making soft swishing sounds against the carpet.
“No, I agree...something is not right.” She paused and pressed
her hand to her chest. “Poor Jeremiah and Rebecca. They are both
such quiet people, and they waited and prayed for that baby for so
long. I can only imagine the strain their loss has placed on their
marriage.”
Her words startled Cheryl. She realized the past few weeks had
to have been diﬃcult for the couple, but enough to jeopardize
their marriage? Weren’t the Amish immune to that?
Naomi braced both hands on her hips. “What is this? You
think because they are Amish, they are above strife?”
Her gentle teasing plucked a guilty string on Cheryl’s con-
science, and she shrugged. “You know, I guess I did think that. I’m
sorry. I thought I was done expecting Amish people to be perfect,
but apparently I still have a few misconceptions.”

Naomi clucked her tongue and crossed to sit next to Cheryl.
“Do not be too hard on yourself. You have been open to learning
our ways, just as I have tried to learn yours. It will take us both
time to get past what we think we know, ja? But in the end, our
friendship will be worth the effort.”
Cheryl nodded, but deep inside another question pushed for
an answer. Could the same be said for any relationship between an
Englischer and Amish?
Made uncomfortable by the idea, she cleared her throat and
shifted in her chair. “So you think that’s it then? The reason
Jeremiah was so uneasy yesterday afternoon was because he and
Rebecca may be having trouble working through their grief?”
Naomi nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “I think that
could very well be a part of it. The other part could be their farm.
With Rebecca gone and Jeremiah struggling to keep the place
running by himself, things may have gotten behind. I will ask
Seth or Levi to check in on him, see if there is anything we can
do to help.”
“But...” Cheryl bit off the one word and stopped. She didn’t
want to risk offending her friend, even if her intent was innocent.
Naomi set down her cup, her gentle gaze steady and calm.
“You are wondering why Jeremiah has not come before the elders
if there is trouble?”
She gave a self-conscious nod. “The Amish are known for
helping one another—like with barn raisings and all that. So why
wouldn’t Jeremiah ask for help if he was having difficulty keeping
up with his farm?”

Cupping one hand in the other, Naomi rubbed her knuckles
absently while she explained. “We are Amish. We lead separate,
holy lives because we desire to please Gott. But we are also human,
and we suffer from all of the same temptations, insecurity, and
doubt as the rest of the world. Jeremiah is faithful to Gott. I have
seen his commitment to his church and to his family.”
She sighed and laid her hands to rest in her lap. “But he is also
just a man. Perhaps the reason he has said nothing about Rebecca’s
going or needing help on the farm is because he is ashamed.”
“Ashamed.” Suddenly understanding dawned. Cheryl frowned
sadly. “He sees all of this as a failing on his part?”
Naomi shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he worries that he has
not enough faith and that is why this tragedy has befallen him.”
She tsked softly and squeezed Cheryl’s hand. “Seth will know the
words to comfort and encourage him. Thank you for telling me
this, Cheryl.”
Yes, Seth would be the perfect person to speak to Jeremiah.
He’d confessed to battling many of the same feelings of insecurity
and doubt after his wife’s death. Cheryl wanted to believe that was
all it would take to set things to rights with the Zooks, but deep
down, questions regarding Rebecca’s departure still lingered. Not
that she could voice those questions, however. Not without risking
hurting Jeremiah—something she’d rather not do considering the
heartache he’d already suffered.
Cheryl tucked her misgivings aside and determined to find out
more once Seth had a chance to visit with Jeremiah.

Memory of his careworn face and rumpled appearance ﬂashed
into her mind. Maybe it was just that he was struggling with feel-
ings of failure as Naomi had said, and maybe not. Maybe it was
more, as his unruly hair and dirt-crusted clothing suggested. He
could be hiding something, or more likely, covering for someone,
namely, his wife.
She dropped her gaze before Naomi could read the inner
suspicion brewing in her eyes.
One way or another, she thought, reaching for the cream
pitcher and pouring a generous amount into her coﬀee, she would
discover why Rebecca Zook had left town.

Chapter Nine
Evening had fallen by the time Cheryl and Naomi ﬁnished
their talk. The November sky was cloudless and the air crisp,
and a thousand stars twinkled overhead. It would have made a
perfect night for a buggy ride—if she didn’t have to get up so early,
and her car weren’t parked in Seth and Naomi’s driveway, and her
watch didn’t read nearly eight thirty—
“Nice night.”
Cheryl jumped and peered through the gloom for the voice’s
owner. Leaving the glow cast by a single lantern a few feet away in
the barn, Levi materialized, hat in hand and a crooked grin on his
face.
“It is just me. Levi. I am sorry if I frightened you.”
She sucked in a calming breath. Fright was hardly the word to
describe the rapid pounding of her heart. “No, I...” She shook
her head. “No.”
He pointed toward her car with his hat. “You are heading
home?”
She threw a glance toward the house then shuﬄed her feet.
“Yeah. It’s getting late. Naomi and I got to talking, and I lost track
of time, but I should be getting home soon.”

Levi had moved to stand next to her car, so close that she could
see the dim light of the moon glinting in his eyes. “That is too bad.
A night like this, I would not have minded a ride in the buggy.”
Cheryl’s breath caught. It was as though he’d read her thoughts.
She tamped a sudden swell of excitement and lifted her gaze to the
sky. “I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind that either. Not too many
nights like this one left before colder weather sets in.”
He grunted in agreement and then turned to look at her. “So
let us go.”
Had she heard right? She dragged her gaze to meet Levi’s.
“What?”
“I have not put the horse away for the night. We can make it a
short ride.”
He was serious. And he watched her with an intensity that
made her pulse race. She licked her lips, afraid if she thought about
her answer too long, her courage would flee and she’d change her
mind.
She slid her car keys into her coat pocket and nodded. “Okay.”
His eyes gleamed as he straightened. “Okay?”
“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”
Grinning, he motioned her to follow and then took off at a
run. Cheryl felt like a teenager as she ran with him, laughing,
toward the barn.
The scents and sounds emanating from the stalls fulfilled every
fall fantasy Cheryl had ever dreamed of hayrides and harvest. She
watched with almost giddy anticipation as Levi harnessed the mare

to the buggy and then felt as though a weight lifted from her shoul-
ders when at last they climbed aboard and set off down the road.
The buggy wheels rumbled beneath her, a perfect sort of song
that dispelled any awkwardness. And the sides and top formed a
cozy refuge that tempted her to dream of a life far different from
her own.
“Ja, there is a blanket beneath the seat if you get cold,” Levi
said above the clopping of the horse’s hooves.
With the cold breeze nipping at her nose, she was only too
glad to drag out the wool throw and drape it over her knees.
“That’s better,” she managed between chattering teeth.
Levi laughed, his breath swirling in ghostly wisps above his
head. “This traveling by buggy thing loses some of its charm when
the temperature drops, ain’t so?”
Cheryl leaned forward to glance at the canopy formed by the
spreading maple branches passing overhead. “I don’t know. It can
be pretty romantic with the right man riding alongside you,” she
replied and then could’ve kicked herself when he shot her a side-
ways glance.
“Or the right woman.”
He said it so quietly, she wondered if she’d heard cor-
rectly...then decided it didn’t matter, so long as the warm, fuzzy
feeling spreading out from her stomach remained.
Levi handled the reins easily. With a flick of his wrists, he
altered their direction so that they followed a less traveled gravel
road that wound along the Millers’ pond, moonlight bathing
their path. Ducks waddled in and out among the rushes lining

the banks. Before too long, the pond would freeze and the ducks
would have to find a new home to shelter in for the winter. For
now, she enjoyed their funny little dance.
Drawing back on the reins, Levi slowed the mare to a walk
then flashed Cheryl a quick glance. “So what were you and Naomi
talking about so intently?”
Back to reality. She sighed and pressed against the seat cush-
ion. “John Swartzentruber, mostly, and trying to figure out what
happened to him. Naomi and I were going over everything that’s
happened in the last couple of days and trying to sort out anything
that could be considered the least bit suspicious.”
“Such as?”
Cheryl told him about Theresa and then shrugged. “I spent all
morning trying to find out where she might be staying. I made
phone calls, checked online, even stopped by a couple of places to
see if anyone recognized the description I gave them.”
He eyed her hopefully. “Any luck?”
She shook her head. “I think she’s still in town, though. Ezra
Wittmer sold her a few baby toys just yesterday morning. And
some kid named Ron said he saw her at the convenience store
where I stopped to buy gas.”
Levi frowned. “You think this woman took the Swartzentrubers’
baby? But how could that be if she is still in Sugarcreek?”
Cheryl clutched the edges of the blanket. “I don’t know. Not
everything about this woman makes sense, but like I told Chief
Twitchell, she’s worth looking into. Something about the way she
acted when she came into the Swiss Miss made me very suspicious.”

Levi stiffened and tugged back on the reins. The mare snorted and
pranced to a halt in response. He relaxed his hold then turned to look
at Cheryl. “You have seen this Theresa Cox? You did not tell me that.”
The underlying worry in his gaze made her mouth go dry. She
nodded. “The morning Baby John disappeared.”
“So what happened when she came into your store?”
The bite in his tone let her know she hadn’t misread his con-
cern. She couldn’t look at him, so she squinted through the gloom
and studied her hands instead.
“Outwardly, I guess I would have to say nothing happened
that I could really call unusual. She bought some baby things. Paid
with cash, just like she did with Ezra and at the convenience store.”
In her excitement, she twisted so that her knee bumped his. “But,
Levi, it’s the timing that makes her actions so questionable, and
the fact that she always seemed to be in such a hurry to leave.”
Inspiration struck, and Cheryl pointed excitedly toward her
eyes. “Oh, and there’s the thing about the glasses too. Sometimes she
wears them, sometimes she doesn’t. That’s odd, don’t you think?”
Levi gave a slow shake of his head. “Perhaps she wears contacts?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s trying to change her appearance.
Hey, it worked for Clark Kent.”
Levi looked confused, so she waved her hand like a cape flap-
ping in the wind and added, “Superman?”
He didn’t even crack a smile. Okay, so the Amish weren’t fans
of comic book characters. Still, she thought everyone had heard of
Superman. She stifled a giggle and jammed her hands back inside
her pockets.

They had circled the pond, and now the road wound gradually
over a hill and back toward the farm. Levi gave the mare a slight
nudge with the reins to get her moving then blew out a sigh. “I am
glad you are doing what you can to help Rachel and Samuel, but I
think you should be careful, Cheryl. This woman, this Theresa
Cox, she is a stranger to Sugarcreek and I...”
To her shock, he hesitated and released the reins with one
hand for a moment as if he’d like to reach for her hand. His gaze
remained fixed to the road, however, and he quickly grasped the
reins once more. “I would not care to see you hurt.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said, wondering if she’d just imagined that
he’d almost held her hand.
“Goot.” Levi gave a chirp to the mare. She responded by toss-
ing her mane and picking up the pace.
Cheryl gripped the seat edge with trembling fingers. Naomi
had confided in Cheryl that Levi too had suffered a broken engage-
ment when his childhood sweetheart decided she loved another.
Had Levi ever taken his former fiancée riding like this, on a night
so clear it made the landscape look as though it had been hand
drawn and with the moon casting brilliant silver light overhead? It
pained her to think he had, but of course, they would have done
something just like this, many times over. She had been Amish, just
like Levi, and they had grown up together. Cheryl had never met
the girl, and still, a twinge of jealousy colored the rest of the ride
back to the farm. When they arrived, Levi jumped from the buggy
and before Cheryl could exit, he circled to her side and held up
his arms.

“It is dark and the ground is uneven here. Let me help you. I
would not want you to fall.”
Cheryl’s thoughts immediately turned to mud. She swallowed
nervously, tried very hard not to think about tumbling into a heap
in the dirt, and braced her hands against Levi’s strong shoulders.
He lifted her out and down as though she weighed no more than
a child—and he didn’t even grunt—a fact she would find time to
thank him for later. In fact, he set her down so gently, it took her
a moment to realize that her feet had touched the ground, or that
he didn’t instantly step away.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, but watched her with that tender, measuring
gaze she found so disconcerting. “You are an unusual woman,
Cheryl Cooper. I never know from one moment to the next what
to what to expect from you. It makes me...I am always off balance
when I am around you.”
What could she say to that? When he finally did add to the
distance between them, Cheryl heard him drag in a deep breath
and let it out on a sigh, something she’d likely have missed in
Columbus with all the city noises blaring about. She let her hands
fall to her sides, certain the sinewy feel of his muscles would be
branded into her palms for months to come.
“I...I should be going,” she stammered then dropped her gaze
to fumble self-consciously in her pocket for her keys. She retrieved
them, only to have them slip from her clumsy fingers and land
with a thump in the dry, brittle grass.

“Sugar and grits,” she mumbled, using a favorite expression of
her very Southern momma. She frowned. With no light to see by,
she’d have trouble finding them in the dark.
Levi chuckled and bent to retrieve the keys. Instead of drop-
ping them into her palm, he unlocked the door then held it open
for her with a smile. Cheryl’s heart thumped as she slid past him
into the driver’s seat and then held out her hand.
“Thank you.”
Levi dismissed her thanks with a shake of his head and laid the
keys carefully in her palm. “You will remember what I said about
Theresa Cox?”
She nodded and somehow managed to insert the key in the
ignition while keeping her eyes locked on Levi’s. “Yes, I remember.
I’ll be careful.”
“Okay, then. I will see you tomorrow. Drive safe.” He closed
the door, retreated a step, then stood watching as Cheryl started
the engine and flipped on the headlights.
My, but the man could mess with a girl’s calm. Cheryl had to
force herself to focus on the darkened road ahead rather than on
the tall figure illuminated by the glow of her taillights in her rear-
view mirror. It made for a long ride home, and for a muddling of
her mind that not even the blaring of the radio could break.
A few minutes later, she let herself into Aunt Mitzi’s cottage
then locked the door behind her, comforted by the scraping of
the deadbolt as she slid it into place. The clock above the hall table
chimed the half hour.

Ten thirty. Late for her, but still early in Seattle. Her parents
would just be finishing up the supper dishes.
Pulling her phone from a pocket in her purse, she dropped her
keys on the hall table while she walked and punched the speed dial
for her mother. It rang once before she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Momma. It’s Cheryl.”
“Hi, sweetheart. Good to hear from you. Everything okay?”
Straight to the point, as usual. Cheryl crossed to the living
room sofa. Kicking off her shoes, she poked them under the coffee
table with her toe and then sank onto the cushions.
“I’m fine. How are you and Daddy doing?”
“Oh, busy as usual. And tired. You know what your pawpaw
used to say.”
“You’re wrung drier than your laundry?”
Her mother’s soft chuckle tickled her ear. “That’s it.”
Cheryl shifted to pull her feet up on the sofa. “You still puttin’
in extra hours at the mission?”
Puttin’?
She couldn’t help but smile, hearing herself slip back into a bit
of Southern slang. Funny how it came so easily, considering she’d
never set foot in the South. She had her momma to thank for that.
“Yeah, well, your daddy’s doin’ most of the work. I’m just
helpin’ out where I can, as usual.” She was silent a moment. “We
sure miss you, sugar,” she said, her voice softer. “I tried callin’ last
week just to check on you. You sure you’re all right? It’s been a
while since we talked.”

A knot rose to Cheryl’s throat, and tears burned her eyes. “I
know, Momma. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to call.”
“It’s all right, sugar. I know how busy you are. How are things
at Aunt Mitzi’s? Did you get that mess straightened out with the
inventory at the store?”
The question eased a bit of the tension in Cheryl’s chest. She
explained how things had returned to normal after the strange
events that happened a few weeks ago. “We’re actually starting to
pick up a little more business now that Christmas is around the
corner. Naomi is talking about doubling up on her fudge orders,
and I’m planning the displays of our holiday items.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll have a tree up with handcrafted ornaments for sale, and I
want a unique display of our festive aprons and potholders. What
do you think?”
“Wonderful ideas! You really are taking this job at the Swiss
Miss to heart. Your aunt Mitzi would be proud.” She hesitated,
and Cheryl could almost hear the gears turning. “And speaking of
Christmas, will you be coming to Seattle for a visit?”
“Why not plan a visit to see them?”
Levi’s words whispered through Cheryl’s head. She picked at
the piping on the arm of the sofa. “I...uh...actually, Momma,
I’m really not sure if I can get away at Christmas. It’s one of our
busiest times in the store, but I’ll try to come for a visit soon.”
“Oh, honey, really?” The disappointment in her voice was
tangible. “I sure was hopin’ you’d make it. Your daddy would so
love to see you. So would I.”

Cheryl sucked in a breath, thinking of her father. She missed
him, and committing to a trip home would feel so good, even if it
were just for a few days.
“I’ll come as soon as I am able, Mom. Promise.”
“That’ll do for now,” her mother said brightly, and then she
paused. “So...you’re sure everything’s all right? You sound a little
sad, sweetheart. Somethin’ on your mind?”
Now. Now would be the time to talk to her about Lance and
their breakup last spring. Maybe she could even ask her mother for
advice on what do about her confusing feelings for Levi.
Cheryl stared at the stitching on her jeans, her eyes blurring
with sudden tears. “Actually, Momma, there is something I’d like
to talk to you about.”
“Yes, sweetie?”
At the last moment, she changed what she’d been about to
say. “There’s been a kidnapping here in Sugarcreek. A baby boy
named John Swartzentruber. His parents are Samuel and Rachel
Swartzentruber. I told you about them, remember?”
“Oh no! Of course I remember them. I’m so sorry to hear this.
Those poor parents. What happened?”
Cheryl explained the events of the last three days and her part
in trying to solve the crime.
“The police don’t have any leads,” she ﬁnished, reaching toward
the end table for a tissue, “and really, neither do I. I feel completely
helpless.”
“I understand, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that it happened while
you were there visiting. You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

The note of urgency in her mother’s voice was surprisingly
comforting. Cheryl pressed the tissue to her nose. “Thanks,
Momma. You’re the second person to tell me that.”
Her mother waited until Cheryl’s sniﬄing calmed and then
said, “I love you, sweetie. I wish I were close enough to hug your
neck.”
“I love you too, Momma, and I wish you were closer. I could
really use a hug right about now.”
She paused, and in the silence buzzing across the signal, Cheryl
felt her mother gathering for a question.
“You’re a special woman, sweetheart. I’ve always been proud of
how strong you are, but I don’t like that you’re alone right now.
Have you thought about possibly moving back to Columbus...
maybe talking things over with Lance? I never have understood
what happened between the two of you.”
There it was—the question she’d spent months avoiding. Not
that she blamed her mother for asking. She had every right to
wonder about her daughter’s happiness, and Cheryl had never
really been honest with her about why she refused to speak of
Lance.
She bit her lip and pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “No, I
haven’t thought about moving back. Things were pretty clear when
Lance and I broke up. He decided he wasn’t the marrying kind. I
don’t know that he ever will be.”
Her mother’s soft sigh spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.
Your daddy warned me about being a busybody. I shouldn’t have
brought it up.”

Though her mother couldn’t see it, Cheryl shrugged. “It’s all
right, Momma. Besides, I’m not really alone. Naomi and Seth
have been so sweet. Actually, their whole family has taken me in. I
just love them, and Levi...”
She broke oﬀ, afraid her mother would read too much into it
if she said more.
“Levi? I don’t believe you’ve mentioned him before. Who
is he?”
Too late. Cheryl shifted the phone to her other ear. “He’s
Naomi’s stepson. Her oldest. Did I forget to mention him? He’s
been a big help around the store. I’ve actually started stocking a
few of his homemade Bible covers. You should see them. They’re
really beautiful.”
“Next time we come,” her mother promised. “So? Everything
else okay? What about your aunt Mitzi? Have you heard from
her?”
“Not since her last letter,” Cheryl said. “I should be receiving
another one soon, though. I’ll call and let you know how she’s
doing.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I know she appreciates you looking after
things while she’s gone, and so do I.”
“I don’t mind. Running the Swiss Miss has actually helped
take my mind oﬀ of my troubles.”
“That’s good...so long as you don’t let things simmer too long
before you check the pot.”
Which was her mother’s way of saying she needed to clear
things up with Lance.

“I hear you, Momma,” Cheryl said, smiling into the phone.
Across the line, she felt her mother smile back. “All right, dear.
I love you.”
“Love you too. Will you tell daddy hello for me?”
“Of course. I’ll ﬁll him in on the baby who was kidnapped too.
We’ll get the church praying for him and his family.”
“Thanks, Momma.”
“No problem. Keep me informed if anything changes.”
“I will.”
They said their good-byes and hung up, Cheryl’s heart lighter
than it had been before she called despite the awkwardness when
the conversation turned to Lance. That would pass eventually.
Besides, it was good to know there were more prayers going up for
Baby John. On the other hand, she still had not been completely
honest with her parents about her feelings toward Lance...and
now Levi.
Turning her phone to silent, Cheryl dragged oﬀ of the sofa
toward her bedroom. It was highly unlikely she’d get much sleep,
but at least she could go to bed knowing she had her mother’s
prayers.
Right now, she could feel her mother’s love all the way from
Seattle to Sugarcreek, Ohio.

Chapter Ten
Cheryl stared at the gleaming black and silver clock quietly tick-
ing away the time above the display case. Only five minutes
had gone by since she last checked it. Not that she could afford to
stand still and watch the hours drag by, with Thanksgiving around
the corner and the Christmas holiday fast approaching. It was just
that with each second that passed since Baby John’s disappearance,
hope of finding him decreased.
She sighed and watched as the clock ticked off another minute.
Hard to believe they still had no solid leads. And she was pretty
certain that if she called one more time to ask about the case, Chief
Twitchell would have her arrested for harassment.
“Excuse me, how much are these?”
Cheryl jerked and propped the broom she’d been using to
sweep the store up in a corner. A woman of somewhat middle age
stood near the entrance holding a tin of Naomi’s homemade fudge
in each hand.
Cheryl named the prices while the woman eyed both of
the tins, moved them up and down as though weighing her
options, then replaced the smaller tin on the shelf and added the
larger one to her basket.

Good choice. She’d be glad she’d opted for the larger container
once she sampled the chocolate.
Just then, the bell above the door jingled. Expecting Naomi,
Cheryl glanced up and was pleasantly surprised when she saw Levi
hurrying over. A flush colored his cheeks, and his eyes were unusu-
ally bright with excitement.
Self-consciously, Cheryl smoothed her hand over her hair.
“Good morning, Levi. I didn’t expect you today.”
“Guder mariye.” Levi gestured toward the back of the store.
“Do you have a minute? I must speak with you.”
Cheryl’s heart gave a painful thump. Was this about last night?
Untying the ruffled apron from around her waist, she laid it on the
counter and nodded. “Sure. Let’s go to my office.”
At the counter where the cash register sat, Levi stopped her
from entering the office.
“Uh...” He glanced at the woman with the fudge, who
watched them with unabashed interest. “This will do.”
Cheryl wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Of course.
Levi would never risk the slightest appearance of impropriety.
Certain her face had become as red as her hair, she cleared her
throat and crossed her arms. “So what’s up?”
Levi angled himself so that his back was to the curious cus-
tomer. He bent forward slightly and lowered his voice. “The
woman you spoke to me about last night...what was her name?”
“Theresa Cox?” Cheryl uncrossed her arms and straightened.
“What about her?”

He gave a rapid wave. “Tell me again what she looks like.”
She rattled off a brief description, her own excitement grow-
ing. “Why? What’s going on, Levi?”
Cheryl had always thought Levi handsome, but never more
than when he looked at her with startling intensity in his cobalt
blue eyes—like he did at that moment.
“Is Esther here?”
She nodded.
He tipped his head toward the exit. “Do you think she can
handle the store for a minute? There’s something I want you to
see.”
“I’m sure she can.” Cheryl hurried to the stockroom, told
Esther where she was heading, then shrugged into her coat and
met Levi at the door.
“What is going on?” she huffed as they hurried up the street
toward the Old Amish Store.
Levi motioned her to a halt and then directed her under the
green and white awning stretching out above the entrance to the
Sugarcreek Sisters Quilt Shoppe.
“Wait,” he said, his gaze fixed on the stores on the other side of
the street.
Cheryl pressed deeper into the shade provided by the awning.
What exactly were they waiting for? Finally, he pointed toward By
His Grace Christian Books. Sunlight glinted off the glass as the
door swung open and a woman stepped out.
“There. Is that the woman who came into the Swiss Miss the
day John Swartzentruber was kidnapped?”

Cheryl’s breath caught. A young woman of medium height
and build stood on the sidewalk fumbling through her purse
for her keys. She wore dark sunglasses and a bright red scarf cov-
ered her head, but even from this distance, she walked with the
harried steps Cheryl recognized.
She leaned out from the awning and pointed. “That’s her!”
She said it loud enough that the woman’s head lifted and
turned in their direction. Cheryl froze, afraid that if she so much
as twitched, the woman would disappear again. She stared at them
a moment and then spun on her heel and strode away.
“Levi, we have to stop her,” Cheryl exclaimed, grasping his
arm.
“Cheryl, wait.”
But she was already moving. If she let the woman out of her
sight, she might never find her again. She checked for traffic then
raced across the street, one hand raised above her head.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Was it her imagination, or did the woman speed up? Cheryl
quickened her steps.
“Ma’am, can you wait a minute? Miss Cox?”
Surely she’d heard her call out. Determined now, Cheryl broke
into a jog.
“Theresa Cox!”
The woman stopped so abruptly, Cheryl almost crashed into
her. Out of breath and more than a little aggravated, she jabbed a
finger toward the woman’s chest.
“Are you Theresa Cox?”

Behind the sunglasses, Cheryl saw the woman blink. Then,
reaching up below the scarf, she tugged a Bluetooth headset from
her ear and held it to her mouth.
“Hold on a second.” Her gaze flitted toward Cheryl. “I’m
sorry, were you talking to me?”
She nodded and struggled to catch her breath. Levi had joined
them on the sidewalk, but he was nowhere near as winded as she.
He motioned toward the woman.
“We are sorry to bother you, but we are looking for someone.
By chance, is your name Theresa Cox?”
The woman pulled off the sunglasses and eyed them critically.
“It is. Who are you?” Her gaze bounced between Levi and Cheryl.
“Do I know you?”
Cheryl pointed toward the headset. “Do you have a minute?
We’d like to talk to you.”
She eyed them warily then lifted the headset and spoke. “I’ll
have to call you back.” She tapped a button on the piece and slid
it into her pocket. “So? How can I help you?”
Now that they’d finally found the woman, Cheryl felt at a loss
for words. She glanced at Levi, who encouraged her with a tip of
his head.
“Well, you see...,” she stammered, lifting the edge of her
coat to let a bit of cool air trickle in, “we...uh...that is, I was
wondering...”
Theresa Cox was staring at her with a glare that could melt
icebergs, and why not? What exactly did Cheryl think was going
to happen? She’d ask if she was responsible for taking John

Swartzentruber and the woman would simply blurt out a confes-
sion? Suddenly, Cheryl felt very inadequate. And foolish.
Lord, please help me.
The faint prayer had only half formed when Cheryl felt peace
wash over her like a gentle wave. She lifted her chin and looked
Theresa in the eyes. “I run the Swiss Miss. I believe you came into
my store the other day?” She pointed down the street in the direc-
tion of the store.
She blinked and averted her gaze. “Did I?”
“You bought a crib mobile.”
Theresa tilted her head as if thinking. “Yes, well, I’ve purchased
several things over the last couple of days. I can’t remember if any
were from your store.”
Catching sight of the small head shake Levi directed at her,
Cheryl smoothed the scowl from her face and tried again. “I
remember speciﬁcally because you seemed to be in a bit of a hurry,
and you paid with cash.”
“So much easier than credit.” Theresa gave a wave of her hand,
as though dismissing her concern. “Besides, what of it? What
exactly is this about?”
John’s fate rested squarely on Cheryl’s shoulders. Hard as it
was to muster the words, she took a deep breath and forced her-
self to speak calmly through tight lips. “Ms. Cox, are you aware
that a child was kidnapped recently from one of the local
farms?”
Shock widened her eyes, and the air of nonchalance fell from
her like a stone. “What?”

“It’s been all over the local news. I’m surprised you haven’t
heard.”
“I...haven’t been watching the news.”
Cheryl licked her lips in a gesture that could be construed as
nervousness, or sympathy, depending on the onlooker’s bent.
Right now Cheryl was leaning toward nerves, despite the fact the
woman looked genuinely distressed.
“I’m staying at the Sleepy Dutchman Inn. There aren’t any
TVs there.”
Cheryl glanced at Levi. “That’s an Amish bed-and-breakfast,
isn’t it?”
He nodded. “The Bowmans run it.”
“I wanted to get a feel for the authentic Amish lifestyle,”
Theresa explained, almost defensively. She crossed both arms over
her chest and lowered her brows. “It’s a touristy thing, I know, but
I’m interested in the work of local artisans, which is why I bought
the baby toys.” She glanced at Levi and then back at Cheryl. “You
say a kid was stolen from one of the farms?”
“A baby,” Levi said, his voice quiet and low. “Stolen from his
crib three days ago.”
Theresa’s face paled, and she pressed her ﬁngers to her mouth.
“Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“May we buy you a cup of kaﬀee?”
Both women turned startled gazes toward Levi. He gestured
toward Yoder’s Corner. “They have the best cinnamon rolls in
town.”
Twin lines furrowed Theresa Cox’s brow. “I don’t know...”

“It is the least we can do in exchange for your time.”
“It won’t take long,” Cheryl added, holding her breath while
Theresa checked her watch.
To Cheryl’s surprise, it was Levi that Theresa examined before
finally giving a nod. “All right then.” Hitching her purse higher on
her shoulder, she added, “I’d sure like to know what all this is
about.”
She certainly didn’t act like a person worried about being
accused of kidnapping. In fact, she looked genuinely confused as
they entered the restaurant and selected a table near the window
but away from the other patrons. Levi took care of ordering their
coffee. Theresa turned down the offer of a cinnamon roll, and
Cheryl did likewise.
While they waited for their drinks to be delivered, Theresa
removed her sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket of her
purse. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name”—she gestured through
the glass—“out there.”
“It’s Cheryl Cooper,” she replied. “Like I told you outside, I
run the Swiss Miss. And this is my...friend...Levi Miller.”
Why she should stumble on the word was a dilemma she’d
have to ponder later, when she found a quiet moment alone.
Cheryl swallowed hard and forged on.
“I’m sorry we pounced on you unexpectedly like we did, it’s
just, with Baby John still missing, pretty much the whole town is
on high alert.”
“John? That’s the baby’s name?”
Cheryl nodded and looked to Levi for support.

He pressed his palms to the table, his hands large against the
checkered cloth. “The family is, of course, desperate to find him.
When Cheryl—Miss Cooper—and I heard about a woman pur-
chasing baby toys and paying for them with cash and rushing out
without even getting change...”
“You thought I took the baby?” Theresa’s scarf had slipped
from her head. She yanked it off of her neck and jammed it into
her lap.
“To be honest, we can’t be sure of anything right now,” Cheryl
replied quickly. “We’re basically just trying to keep our eyes open
and report any unusual happenings that we see around town.” She
steadied herself against the table. “I realize this is very untoward. I
hope you understand, all we’re trying to do here is help this family
find their son.”
Theresa hesitated a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I guess I
can understand that, though I’m not sure what I can do to help.”
Cheryl swallowed nervously. “Perhaps if you wouldn’t mind
telling us who the baby things are for?”
Their coffee arrived. Theresa stiffened while the waitress set the
drinks in front of them then took her time stirring half a packet
of sugar into her cup.
“Look, Miss Cooper, I truly do appreciate what you’re trying
to do, and I am sorry for that family who lost their son, I really
am.” She drew a breath and blew it out. “But I’ve already told you,
I’m just a tourist interested in the work of local craftsmen. That’s
it. And this”—she motioned to her and Levi—“is kinda freaking
me out.”

Cheryl bit her tongue. Surely she had to realize why they felt
compelled to speak to her and how weak her story sounded?
“Look, Ms. Cox...”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, punctuated by the pink gloss
she’d applied. “I had nothing to do with that missing child. Now,
if you’ll excuse me?” She pushed her chair back and rose from the
table, leaving her coffee sitting untouched and steaming. “I really
need to be going. Good day to you both.”
Cheryl felt as though she were a balloon and someone had
punched a hole in her and let all the air squeak out. She started
to go after her and was drawn back into her seat by Levi’s firm
grasp.
“No, Cheryl. You have to let her go.”
She glanced at the door and back. “But she hasn’t told us
anything.”
He shook his head. “She did. She told us everything. It is we
who expected something more.”
Was he right? Had she assumed too much? Hoped too much?
Her knees suddenly weak, she sank into her chair, hot tears burn-
ing her eyelids.
“I don’t understand. I was so sure that when we found her,
she’d be able to provide us with some answers.”
“I’m sorry, Cheryl. I know you hoped that finding this
woman would be the key to solving the mystery behind John’s
disappearance.”
It was petty and selfish, yet more than solving the mystery,
Cheryl had hoped finding John would absolve her of the guilt that

had clung to her like a cocklebur since his disappearance. Misery
settled like heavy mist on her heart.
“Cheryl, look at me.”
She couldn’t. If she did, he’d see how disappointed she was and
know the truth behind her desperate desire to have Baby John
returned.
“Cheryl, what happened to Samuel and Rachel was not your
fault.”
She jerked her head up. Sure enough, Levi was looking at her
with enough warmth and compassion to make her eyes ﬂood with
tears.
“How...how did you know?” she whispered past a raw throat.
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “We all tend to blame
ourselves when things go wrong, ain’t so?”
He wasn’t talking about her anymore, or not just her. Empathy
melted her heart as she thought back to the woman he’d once loved
and who’d in turn broken his heart. She sniﬀed and wiped the tears
from her cheeks with her free hand. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“So it is possible that this guilt you are feeling now, it may not
be something you truly deserve. In that case, perhaps it is some-
thing you would do well to seek Gott about, ja?”
“Ja.”
She replied without thinking and then burst into a giggle at
the realization that she’d mimicked his speech and the lift of his
eyebrows at the same time. Levi too chuckled.
“Thanks for talking me back from the ledge, Levi. I was really
bummed there for a minute.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but the way his face softened
into a gentle smile, accentuated by the sweet crinkles around his
gorgeous blue eyes, made her want to melt into a puddle.
Finally he blew out a sigh and pushed back in his chair. “I am
glad we found this woman you were looking for so we can put any
suspicion of her to rest.”
Not exactly, Cheryl thought, directing her gaze to her cooling
cup of coﬀee. She hadn’t answered one question—why she’d both-
ered to check out of the Little Switzerland a day early.
Biting the inside of her cheek, Cheryl made a mental note of
the inn where Theresa had said she was staying. She’d claimed she
was only interested in exploring the Amish lifestyle, but it never
hurt to ask questions or see if the innkeeper’s story lined up. If
not, Cheryl intended to plop Theresa Cox back on to her list of
suspects—right near the top.

Chapter Eleven
Cheryl watched as Naomi scooped the last bit of cooked
pumpkin from the rind and gave her spoon a hearty pat
against the side of the large glass bowl she was using to make puree.
Too hearty. A large glop of pumpkin flew from the spoon, missing
her apron, and spattered against her brown dress. Cheryl ducked
her head and stifled a laugh.
“Sugar and grits,” Naomi mumbled.
Seth ambled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of
coffee, a wry grin on his bearded face. “What is this? For a moment,
I thought Cheryl had stopped by.”
“Cheryl did stop by,” she said from her stool next to the
window, “but what you heard was definitely your wife.”
Surprise rounded Seth’s eyes as he turned to catch sight of her.
“There you are. Guder mariye, Cheryl.”
“Guder mariye, Seth,” Cheryl repeated, fighting back a smile
as she sipped from her cup.
Naomi’s cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze to the
offending pumpkin splotch. “I wanted to have a fresh batch of
pumpkin butter for the store, and since Cheryl has been asking for
the recipe, I invited her over to watch.”

Seth’s eyes twinkled with mirth as he took a seat at the table.
“And you thought you would sweeten it first by spreading it on
your dress?” He winked at Cheryl. “I bet you did not know that
was part of the recipe.”
This time Cheryl couldn’t hold back her laughter. It
warmed her to see the gentle teasing passing between Seth and
Naomi.
Grabbing a dishcloth, Naomi dabbed away the stain and then
carried the bowl of fresh pumpkin to the counter for mashing. She
inclined her head toward her husband. “So? What are your plans
for today, aside from cluttering up my kitchen?”
Seth chuckled, and Cheryl jotted down the ingredients as
Naomi added sugar, cinnamon, and ground cloves to the bowl
then sprinkled in a dash of allspice.
“Will you be stopping by the Swartzentrubers’ farm?” Naomi
continued.
Seth shook his head, his fingers combing thoughtfully at his
beard. “Actually, I thought I would try something else first. In
keeping with our traditions, the Swartzentrubers have no photo-
graphs of Baby John to share with the police, and since the twins
aren’t identical, it wouldn’t help to use a picture of Baby Joseph,
even if they would allow a photograph to be taken. But our
Elizabeth, she is quite a gifted artist, ain’t so? Better than that
officer Chief Twitchell brought in from the next county to try and
create a sketch.”
Cheryl lifted her head. What exactly was he thinking?

Naomi paused her stirring and turned to look at her husband.
“Ja, she is talented. You are thinking about asking her to work with
the police department?”
He shrugged. “I thought it might help if they had something
to go on.”
Admiration filled Cheryl’s heart. It couldn’t be easy for him to
consider allowing Elizabeth to work so closely with the Englischers
after losing Sarah to one.
Setting aside the spoon, Naomi wiped her hands on her apron
and went to sit beside him at the table.
“That is a wonderful idea, Seth. I am very glad you thought of
it.”
His shoulders straightened at her praise. Cheryl looked away.
Something as small as an admiring word could mean so much.
Was that what had been missing between her and Lance?
Seth braced his hands against the table and moved to rise.
“Goot, then I will speak to Elizabeth.”
Naomi caught his arm, and her gaze winged to Cheryl and
back. “Seth, wait. There is something else we need to seek your
advice on.”
He settled back into his seat. “Ja? What is it?”
Naomi motioned toward Cheryl, who relayed the details of
her encounter with Jeremiah Zook. When she finished, Naomi
blew out a troubled sigh.
“I am worried for them, Seth,” she said. “Do you think we
could speak to them, perhaps offer a listening ear?”

“We?” Seth waggled his eyebrows. “I do not know. Cheryl?
What does your schedule look like this afternoon?”
Naomi swatted his arm. “All right...you. Could you speak to
Jeremiah and see if there is anything we can do to help?”
He dipped his head in agreement. “I will see to it.”
“Goot. Oh, and Seth...” Naomi plucked at the hem of her
apron. “About Rachel Swartzentruber’s parents...”
Blowing an exaggerated sigh, Seth sank against his seat and
rolled his eyes heavenward. “So today we are determined to fix all
of the world’s problems, ain’t so?”
Naomi leaned forward and fixed her husband with a deter-
mined glare. “You do not like that Rachel is refusing to speak to
the Robertsons any more than Cheryl or I do.”
“No, I do not, but...”
“What is it the Bible says about honoring one’s parents?” Naomi
tapped her temple as though thinking. “Cheryl, do you remember?”
She had no time to answer before Seth narrowed his eyes and
wagged his finger under Naomi’s nose. “You know exactly what it
says, Wife.”
“Ja, I do, and so does our Rachel. But right now, she is not
thinking clearly, and I fear she will regret having allowed so great a
chasm between her and her parents, especially if...”
Cheryl flipped the page on her notepad. She was glad Naomi
hadn’t finished the thought. John would come home. In the mean-
time, she agreed with Naomi. Rachel needed her mother, whether
she admitted it or not.

Naomi reached out to clasp her husband’s hand. “Think of
Sarah. Is there anything you would not do to make things right
with her, were you allowed the chance?”
Seth said nothing, but on his face was written a wealth of
regret.
“It is wrong to let Rachel make the same mistakes that you and
Sarah made,” Naomi whispered gently. “I know it here.” She
tapped her chest. “Besides,” she continued brightly, “it is not as
though we would be going behind Rachel’s back. There are reports
all over the televisions and radios, and her parents are not Amish.
They have surely heard the news by now.”
Seth rubbed one large palm over his face. “That is most likely
true.”
Naomi pressed both hands tightly around her husband’s. “We
would speak to the Robertsons as parents, encourage them to
reach out to their daughter. Perhaps if they knew how desperately
she needed them, their hearts might be softened.”
He lowered his head. “Would that I could have seen how
much my Sarah needed me when she was growing up. I was too
blinded by my own grief after her mother died to realize it.”
Cheryl swallowed a sudden swell of emotion. For all his gruﬀ
demeanor, Seth hid a hurt in his heart that none but the Lord
could heal, and that she understood full well.
Naomi laid her hand against his cheek. “We might spare another
family the same bitterness and pain. Is it not our duty to try?”
He rested his chin atop his laced ﬁngers and then sighed. “You
are right, but considering the resentment the Roberstsons feel

about their daughter becoming Amish, do you think they will
even speak to us?”
“I had not thought of that.” Frowning, Naomi dropped
back against her chair and then glanced at Cheryl. Perhaps you
could come with us? Surely the Robertsons would speak with
you.”
She set down her pencil and straightened. “Of course, if you
think it would help.”
“I believe that would be a goot idea.” Seth stood and nodded
toward Cheryl then pressed a kiss to Naomi’s forehead. “I am
grateful for such a wise and loving wife.”
The words brought a wash of happy tears. Naomi smiled up at
her husband.
This.
This was what Cheryl was missing and what she had mourned
so deeply for after Lance left. It hit her like a blow and left her
blinking back tears as Naomi said good-bye to Seth and then
crossed to the counter where her unﬁnished batch of pumpkin
butter waited.
Cheryl folded up the paper she’d been using to take notes. The
work was easy, and Naomi had performed the task so many times,
she obviously knew the steps by heart. Watching would aﬀord
Cheryl plenty of time to think.
And pray.

Chapter Twelve
New Philadelphia was a large town in comparison to
Sugarcreek, yet much smaller than Columbus. It was quaint
and well kept, and the views of the Tuscarawas River made the
twenty-minute drive pleasant. At least, it was until they wound
through downtown, past a large brick building with a sign that
read Welcome to Our City in metal letters on top.
Seeing it made the biscuit Cheryl had washed down with
coﬀee when she, Naomi, and Seth stopped for breakfast sit like a
yeasty lump in her stomach. Maybe coming along on this trip
hadn’t been such a good idea. She had her own family problems to
deal with, after all.
Cheryl pointed as the Ferris wheel of Tuscora Park came into
view. “There’s the park. According to my map, the Robertsons’
house should be nearby.”
She glanced sidelong at Naomi. “Sure you want to do this?”
Naomi craned her neck to peer at her husband in the backseat.
“Seth?”
In the rearview mirror, Seth nodded. “Ja, we’re sure.” He peered
out the window. “How much longer to the Robertsons’ home?”
Cheryl took a deep breath then checked the navigation app on
her phone one last time. “About ﬁve minutes.”

Three turns later, they rolled to a stop in front of a large Tudor
style house. Neatly trimmed hedges lined a brick path leading up
to an oak door fitted with sparkling leaded glass.
She shoved the car into park. “This is it.”
A bouquet of Indian corn adorned the door. To the left of
the patio had been arranged several bales of hay. Pumpkins and
chrysanthemums spilled from the top, and a cheerful scarecrow
bearing a Welcome sign beckoned.
“We’ll see how welcome we are once they find out why we’re
here,” Cheryl muttered as she exited the Ford.
Naomi joined her on the sidewalk. “Did you say something,
Cheryl?”
She forced a smile. “I was just wondering how welcome we’re
going to be once the Roberstons find out we’re here to talk to them
about their daughter.”
Naomi turned to peer at the house, an anxious frown forming
wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth. Even Seth looked
somber as he gestured toward the path that led to the entrance.
“We will not find out standing here. Shall we?”
At the door, Cheryl paused before ringing the bell. “Better let
me do the talking, at least until we figure out how receptive they
are to our coming.”
Both Seth and Naomi nodded, and then Naomi squeezed
Cheryl’s arm. “Danki.”
“For what?”
“Coming with us”—she motioned toward the house—“and
speaking with the Robertsons. You did not have to.”

Cheryl covered her hand. “It’s the right thing to do. We both
know that. Let’s hope the Robertsons do too.”
Some of the worry melted from Naomi’s face. Seth’s too,
though his features were harder to read behind the full beard. Still,
Cheryl knew how much they wanted to help, despite the hard
feelings that existed between Rachel and her parents. Drawing a
quivering breath, she reached for the bell and pushed.
At first only the bark of a small dog emanated from inside.
Cheryl waited and then pushed the bell a second time. Somewhere
deep inside the house a voice called, “Coming.”
“This is it,” Cheryl said over her shoulder, turning just as
the door opened and a stylish woman with perfect hair and makeup
stood looking out. She was quite attractive, with refined features
that had Cheryl guessing as to her age.
“Hello. Can I help...?”
Her gaze drifted past Cheryl to Naomi and Seth. She froze, a
look that could only be described as angry recognition darkening
her features.
“Who is it, dear?” a man’s voice from inside asked.
“I don’t know.” She closed the door slightly, so that her slender
body filled the entire crack then turned her face toward the hall
just visible over her shoulder. “John, could you come here for a
moment?”
“One second, love. I’m working on that...”
“John!” The door closed even farther, and she twisted to hiss
over her shoulder. “Now.”

Heavy steps sounded from within and then the man’s voice
again. “All right, all right, Victoria, what in the world...”
She swung the door open to expose them so that all three had
a clear view of the house and hallway.
John Robertson stared silently for a second, a towel twisted in
his hands. “Oh. I see.”
He was a tall man, just beginning to show signs of age with
gray peppering the hair at his temples. He was handsome and
confident—except that at the moment, his lips had gone slack. It
seemed to take some effort for him to tear his gaze from Naomi to
fix on Cheryl.
“Who are you?” As he spoke, he draped the towel over his
shoulder and braced his hands on his hips. At his ankles, a small
Yorkie terrier yapped at them. He picked the dog up in a move so
practiced, it appeared he did it without thinking. The dog quieted
instantly.
Cheryl stepped forward, her mouth suddenly dry. “Hello,
Mr. Robertson. My name is Cheryl Cooper. These are my friends,
Seth and Naomi Miller.”
His gaze darted to Seth and Naomi and then quickly returned.
“Is this about my daughter?”
She had been expecting a bit of resistance, maybe some
tension to start with, but his forthrightness caught her completely
off guard. She barely managed a squeaky, “Yes, sir, it is.”
Naomi’s gentle voice filled the sudden silence. “Mr. Robertson,
Mrs. Robertson, would you mind if we came in for a moment? We

would like to speak with you about your daughter. It will not take
long.”
Mrs. Robertson pressed close to her husband’s side, her ﬁngers
clutching his bicep. “What about Rachel? Is she all right?”
Naomi glanced at Seth and then at Cheryl. She didn’t want to
share this news on the Robertsons’ front steps any more than they
did.
Cheryl cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
She waited, searching their faces for indication that they already
knew what she was about to share. They both stared back unblink-
ing, their lips pressed into tight, unyielding lines. Even the dog
watched her intently, its ears perked and twitching.
Cheryl lifted her chin and forged ahead. “Were you aware that
your grandson, John Swartzentruber, has been kidnapped?”
Mrs. Robertson dropped her gaze, and Mr. Robertson slipped
his free arm around his wife’s waist. “We...heard. Not from Rachel.
It was on the news, and we’ve already been questioned by police.”
Cheryl nodded. “Yes, sir, and we’d like to ask a few questions.”
She motioned toward the door. “May we?”
Mrs. Robertson lifted her face to her husband. “John?”
He shook his head, and his jawline ﬁrmed. “Actually, this is
not a good time.”
“What?” Scarcely able to believe her ears, Cheryl repeated his
words. “Not a good time?”
“I’m afraid not.”
The dog seemed to sense the tension rippling between them
because it immediately began barking.

“Muffin, hush,” Mr. Robertson warned. He put the dog down
and then snatched the towel from his shoulder and tossed it onto
a table where several flyers and pamphlets lay stacked. The last one
pictured a large cruise ship. The rest slid to the floor in an untidy
mess.
“I’m sorry, Miss Cooper, my wife hasn’t been feeling well. I
was just fixing her something to help her headache. We’ve both
been under a lot of strain,” he added, drawing his wife closer.
Cheryl’s gaze drifted to Mrs. Robertson. She did appear tense,
and her lips quivered in a way that suggested she might be on the
verge of tears. How terrible this rift with her daughter must be to
her! Cheryl felt a wave of empathy splash over her.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Mrs. Robertson’s gaze slid to hers, and then she nodded. “Thank
you, but I’m sure you can understand why we would rather not
discuss the problems with our daughter with strangers.”
“Oh, but we are not exactly strangers,” Cheryl began. “The
Millers, here, have known your daughter...”
“You are strangers to us,” Mr. Robertson interrupted firmly.
“If I may?” For the first time, Seth spoke. He removed his hat
and then crossed to stand in front of Mr. Robertson, his gaze
steady and calm. “I know this separation from your daughter has
caused you pain. She too has suffered, which is why we felt it
necessary to come...on her behalf.”
“Her behalf?” A surprising amount of bitterness sharpened
Mrs. Robertson’s words. She glared at Seth and then at Naomi.
“So she doesn’t know about your visit, is that it?”

Seth shook his head sadly. “I am afraid not.”
His words seemed to invigorate the Robertsons. They both
stood a little straighter, their shoulders back and their chins jutting
angrily.
Seth held up his hand. “Please, if you will just hear us out. I
know what you are going through, what you are all going through,
and I might be able to help.”
“Oh, you know what we’re going through?” Mrs. Robertson
said, the accusation in her tone stinging. She stepped forward,
away from her husband, her lips and skin white beneath her
makeup and tears wetting her eyelashes. “I suppose you know
what it’s like to have one of your children reject everything you
believe in? To deny everything”—her hand slashed through the
air—“you’ve taught them their whole life so they can turn their
back on you and become someone you barely recognize?”
Mr. Robertson clasped his wife’s elbow. “Victoria.”
She jerked her head toward her husband. “No, John. He doesn’t
know what we’re going through. It’s not fair of him to say so.”
“He does,” Cheryl said, loudly and ﬁrmly enough to capture
the Robertsons’ attention. Both turned to look at her. She drew a
breath and lowered her voice. “He does know. His eldest daughter,
Sarah, left Sugarcreek to marry outside the church. He hasn’t seen
her or spoken to her for a very long time.”
The Robertsons seemed to consider this a moment, and then
Mr. Robertson sighed and ran his hand through his graying hair.
“I see.” He paused, though his jaw continued working as
though he were struggling for words. “We’re sorry to hear that.

Unfortunately, we’re not ready to talk about the problem with our
daughter just yet. I hope you understand and will respect our
position.”
With that, he stepped back into the house, pulling his wife
with him, and closed the door. Cheryl stared at the bundle of
Indian corn that hung from the knocker, the dried husks rattling
like paper in the stiﬀ breeze.
“We should go,” Seth said, replacing his hat on his head.
Cheryl hesitated, torn between racing for her car and storming
into the house and demanding that the Robertsons hear them out.
Did they have any idea what agony their child was going through?
Regardless of what had passed between the members of this family,
she found it diﬃcult to believe that they could close one another
out so coldly.
“They didn’t even give us a chance,” she muttered, disbelief
and frustration making the words sharp on her tongue.
“We tried,” Naomi urged, grasping Cheryl’s arm. “That is all
the Lord expects from us.”
Still, it didn’t feel right walking away with the situation
between Rachel and her parents still festering. Disquiet gnawed at
Cheryl’s stomach all the way home...that and something else...a
feeling that she’d missed something she shouldn’t have. In the
backseat, Seth and Naomi conversed quietly. Naomi had elected to
ride there, and sensing she wanted to comfort her husband, Cheryl
had not objected.
They were nearing Sugarcreek before she could no longer con-
tain the words roiling through her brain.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, slapping the steering wheel. “How
could anyone turn their back on their own child at a time like
this?” She met Seth’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I mean, I know
you and Sarah have had your differences, but were you in the
Robertsons’ place, I have no doubt that you would do everything
you could to help your daughter, right?”
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I would. But perhaps we
are missing the point, Cheryl. It may be that the Robertsons are
doing all they can.”
Her mouth dropped, and she jerked the wheel a little too
tightly. All three of them pitched side-to-side. When she had
calmed enough to speak, she said, “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t
even talk to us.”
Naomi tsked quietly. “What Seth means, Cheryl, is that we all
handle our emotions differently. Those who rely on Gott have a
strength and peace that is foreign to those without Him. Now, I
am not saying Rachel’s parents are without Gott. We have no idea
what kind of people the Robertsons are. I am merely suggesting
that perhaps this is their way of dealing with a situation that
appears out of their control.”
Cheryl frowned doubtfully, flicking on her signal and making
the turn before she spoke. “I don’t know. They sure didn’t seem all
that concerned to me. I mean, did you see the travel agency flyers
on the hall table?”
“Travel agency flyers?” Seth echoed.

Naomi nodded. “I noticed them, but I did not know what
they were.” She sought Cheryl’s gaze in the mirror. “You are sure
that is what those papers were for?”
“I think so.” Her grip tightened on the wheel. “I think I recog-
nized the logo on one of them. I could check, I suppose.”
But as she drove into Sugarcreek, the question she’d asked in
frustration pounded over and over in Cheryl’s brain.
What kind of parents plan a vacation when their grandchild is
missing?

Chapter Thirteen
Cheryl dropped Seth and Naomi off at the farm and then
made a beeline for the Swiss Miss and her computer. The old
thing was crankier than normal. By the time she finally got it fired
up, her fingers were raw from drumming.
She wracked her brain while she waited. The last flyer on the
table included a picture of a cruise ship. And palm trees. Lots of
palm trees. If only she’d gotten a better look! Though she couldn’t
recall the name of the agency, the picture was familiar, and
Googling local travel sites would be easy.
She’d only searched a few minutes before pulling up a Web site
with the same ship featured in the header. And the address for the
agency was in Dover, not far away.
She squinted at the screen. “TransWorld Travel,” she read
quietly.
Cheryl sat back in her chair. She was almost certain that was
the name she’d seen on the flyer. She jotted down the number then
reached for her cell phone. A couple of rings later, a perky voice
answered.
“TransWorld Travel. This is Faith speaking. How can I help
you?”

Cheryl licked her dry lips and tried to sound casual. “Hi,
Faith. My name is Cheryl Cooper. I’d like to talk with someone
about planning a vacation?”
“Great! I can help you.” Cheryl heard computer keys clacking
and then Faith came on the line again. “Okay, let’s start with some
basic information ﬁrst. Do you have any idea where you’d like to
go?”
“Uh...not exactly. I was thinking possibly a cruise? Or
maybe a trip abroad.” Cheryl tacked on the latter, thinking the
Robertsons looked like a couple who would use the term abroad.
“All righty. And will you be traveling alone, or is someone
going with you?”
“Alone. For now. Well...what I mean is...yes, I’ll be traveling
alone.”
Ugh. For now? Why on earth had she added that? She resisted
the urge to smack her forehead and gripped the phone tighter.
“No problem. We’ve got lots of packages available. Do you
have a speciﬁc price point?”
“Not really.” Thinking that made her sound haughty, she
added, “I mean, you know, I’d like to stay within reason.”
“I understand. I can add on a cruise if you’d like, although
this time of year, you’ll most likely want to embark from a more
tropical climate.”
“Right. Whatever you think looks good.”
There were more keys clacking, and then Faith returned to the
line. “Yes, I’ve got several great packages available, and most of

them look very reasonable. I’d be happy to show them to you.
What does your calendar look like? Would you like to set up an
appointment for later this week?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might be available today.”
“Today would be wonderful! Just let me check my
calendar...”
Faith sounded exceptionally pleased, and Cheryl had to pull
the phone away from her ear.
“Yep! All clear. I can see you this afternoon, say around three?
How long will it take you to get here?”
“I live in Sugarcreek, so probably about ﬁfteen minutes?”
“That will give me plenty of time,” she said. “I’ll pull some mate-
rial for you and have it waiting when you get here. See you soon.”
The line went dead, and Cheryl was left staring at a darkened
cell phone. Okay, so the lady was perky. That ﬁt the travel agent
image she’d created in her head—one who looked like Julie
McCoy from The Love Boat and talked faster than Kelly Ripa.
Grimacing, she rose, reached for her jacket and purse, and then
went out to her car.
TransWorld Travel was housed in a quaint little cottage in the
very heart of Dover. Painted palms adorned the windows on either
side of the entrance, and on the door was a sign that read Your
Paradise Awaits.
Barely had Cheryl pushed past the threshold than a cheery
voice called, “Hello there! You must be Cheryl Cooper.”
A petite woman waved from behind a massive desk, her gold
hoop earrings swinging against her cheeks with each swipe of her

arm. Hopping from her chair, she circled the desk and gave
Cheryl’s hand a hearty pump.
“Faith Overstreet.”
“Cheryl Cooper.”
“So good to meet you. Your call came at a great time, since my
afternoon was free.”
Faith pranced back to her desk, her curls bouncing against her
shoulders. Cheryl instantly envied the woman’s gossamer locks.
Her hair was exactly the right shade of red—not too bright, but
still vibrant enough to be called “strawberry.” The only way anyone
would consider Cheryl’s hair a fruit was if carrots suddenly changed
food groups. She sighed and slid into the chair Faith oﬀered.
“So you’re thinking about taking a vacation?” Faith pointed to
the pamphlets she’d spread across her desk. “Here are several great
packages to choose from. What exactly did you have in mind?”
Cheryl picked up one of the pamphlets and ﬁngered the edge.
It featured a trip to Mexico via a cruise ship. She didn’t recognize it
as one of the pamphlets that the Robertsons had selected, so she set
it aside. “Not Mexico, I think. Too many unhappy memories.”
Which was in part, true. She and Lance had discussed the pos-
sibility of taking their honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas.
“No problem.” Faith slid that pamphlet and two others out
from the stack. “What about Alaska or Hawaii? Either of those
interest you?”
Cheryl eyed the mountains on one packet and the tropical
climes on the other. Neither looked familiar. “Um...I was think-
ing more like England or...”

“Spain?” Faith held up a photo of a Spanish pavilion brim-
ming with tourists.
“Yes!” That one definitely looked familiar. And the one below
it, featuring the French countryside, also caught Cheryl’s eye. So
the Robertsons had definitely been perusing Europe?
“What else have you got overseas?” she asked, trying to
sound only mildly excited rather than elated—the way she felt
inside.
Sweeping aside half of the pamphlets, Faith laid out the ones
that dealt specifically with destinations across the Atlantic, most of
which looked familiar.
Cheryl grabbed two. “May I?”
“Of course.” Faith happily pushed several more toward her.
“Feel free to take as many as you like.” She paused and arched a
delicate eyebrow. “Now, most of these will require passing through
customs. I assume your passport is up-to-date?”
She nodded. It had been part of her wedding preparations.
“Great. Then let me get your number, and I’ll put together a
few more packages for you. And, if you decide you’d like to see
something in particular, feel free to call. My contact information is
on the back.” She flipped over one of the pamphlets and pointed.
“There’s the agency number, and here is mine. My e-mail address
is there too, in case you need it.”
“Thank you,” Cheryl said.
Faith scribbled Cheryl’s name and phone number on to a
Rolodex card and then added it to a file already bulging with
contacts.

“So may I ask how you heard of us?” Faith said, a smile starting
at the corners of her mouth. “Was it the new TV ad? I heard it ran
this morning before the local news. I set my DVR to record before
I left for work. I can’t wait to see it. I have a cameo.”
Cheryl started to shake her head when a flash of inspiration
struck. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “Actually,
I got your name from some friends of mine. Do you remember the
Robertsons?”
“John and Victoria?” Faith’s smile widened. “Of course I do.
They came in day before yesterday, as a matter of fact. I’m putting
together a European vacation for them too. How interesting.”
Cheryl fidgeted in her chair. “Yes, I know. Victoria had a
bunch of your flyers at the house.”
Still honest, though Cheryl’s cheeks were definitely starting to
warm under pressure. For the next several minutes, she listened
as Faith explained how excited she was to be planning a trip for
the Robertsons.
“I’m talking England, France, Spain...you name it. I believe
they’re looking at a more extended stay than what you want,” she
finished. “Victoria told me she and John had been considering a
trip like this for some time. They never could take it before. John
was always so busy with his job and whatnot, but lately he’s been
thinking of taking some time off.”
“Really?”
Faith grabbed a pen from a cup on the corner of her desk and
began flicking the clip with her thumb. “I’m glad, really. They’ve
had some tough times recently. Problems with their daughter, I

think. At least, that’s what I gathered from my conversations with
Victoria.”
Cheryl swallowed nervously. “Do they only have the one
child?”
“Far as I know.” Faith flicked one time too many and then
scowled as the clip snapped off of the pen and went scuttling under
a letter tray. “Rats. I’m always doing that. Anyway, as I was saying,
the Robertsons have had some trouble recently. I think I heard
their daughter joined a cult or something like that.”
Cheryl had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting in anger.
The Amish church was definitely not a cult. “Is that right?” she
said instead.
Faith nodded. “Did you see that piece that 20/20 did on religious
sects in America? It aired a couple of weeks ago. Or was it last week?
Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter.” Her eyes rolled. “Fanatics.”
As her momma would say, Cheryl got her back up. It irritated
her that someone with obviously very little knowledge of the
Amish would judge them so harshly. She clasped her hands in her
lap and formed her words carefully. “I would hardly call the Amish
peoplefanatics.They’remoredowntoearththanmostEnglischers,”
she said, a tad too sharply.
Faith’s eyebrows rose.
“What I mean is, I live in an Amish community. The people
there are known for being kind, considerate, and peace-loving.
That’s hardly the picture of a fanatic, right?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, Cheryl decided to change the sub-
ject and cleared her throat. “Anyway, Ms. Overstreet...”
“Faith, please.” She reached across the desk and patted
Cheryl’s arm.
“Yeah, okay. Faith, do you think you could get me some infor-
mation on packages similar to the ones the Robertsons are
planning?”
It didn’t take much to redirect the chatty travel agent. She
swept up from her desk to retrieve a ﬁle from the metal cabinet
behind her. “Of course I can. I have their information right here.
I’ll look through it and give you a call. Or, if you’d prefer, I can
e-mail you whatever I come up with?”
“Either one will be ﬁne,” Cheryl said, adding her e-mail
address to the phone number she’d already given. Slinging her
purse over her arm, she made her way to the door. “Thanks again.
And if you could possibly keep me informed if John and Victoria
have a change of plans? I wouldn’t want to schedule a trip at the
same time and have them think I’m stalking them.” She laughed
lightly, as though making a joke.
Faith nodded and opened her mouth, but rather than risk
another detailed explanation of a possible 20/20 episode, Cheryl
waved and let herself out the door.
On the sidewalk, she drew a deep breath. Naomi didn’t have
a phone, but what Cheryl wouldn’t give to be able to call her
with the news that the Robertsons were planning on leaving the
country. Who abandoned their child in the midst of a tragedy?

Aside from asking the Robertsons, there was only one way to
find out. Cheryl pointed her Ford toward Sugarcreek and the
Swartzentrubers’ farm.
Outside, the house still maintained its peaceful facade, but
Cheryl knew that wasn’t the case inside. Even Rufus seemed to
sense the difference. Instead of greeting her with a happy bark, he
only whined. She approached the door, her feet heavy on the porch
steps, and knocked. Within minutes, Rachel answered, little
Joseph cradled in her arms.
Weary lines creased the young mother’s face, and her eyes were
red-rimmed and weepy. She brightened upon seeing Cheryl, how-
ever, and beckoned her inside with a watery smile.
“Come in, come in. It’s good to see you, Cheryl.”
“You too, Rachel.” She stepped into the hall. Though it looked
exactly the same as it had a couple of days ago, the air felt heavier,
and the room somehow darker. She turned to give Rachel a hug.
“I haven’t stopped praying for a second for you and your family.”
She sniffed and thanked her with a weak shrug. “We can use
all the prayers we can get, that’s for sure.”
Something about the way she spoke and looked were definitely
Englisch. And then Cheryl realized it was the absence of a prayer
cap that made her think so. She reached for Rachel’s arm.
“You doing okay?”
Her gaze dropped to her sleeping baby. “We’re getting through.
Samuel says we must not give up hope.” She looked up. “Would
you like to come in for some coffee?”
“That would be nice.”

As before, Rachel led her to the kitchen. It was surprisingly
bare. And quiet. Cheryl looked around in confusion. Where was
the food? The people? The hushed whispers of well-meaning
friends?
“The men are out looking with Samuel,” Rachel said, as though
reading her thoughts. “The women are...well...I asked them not
to come. I couldn’t bear the constant assurances that everything
was going to be all right when deep down...”
She trailed to silence and hugged little Joseph so tight he
squirmed.
Made decidedly uncomfortable in the face of Rachel’s agony,
Cheryl lowered her gaze. The questions she’d intended to ask
Rachel about her parents could wait.
She gestured around the house. “I’m so sorry about dropping
in like this. Maybe I should come back another time.”
“Actually...” Her brow furrowed and her bottom lip began to
quiver. “I could really use someone to talk to right now. Someone
who isn’t...who’s not...” Her free hand went to her hair and then
settled at her neck.
“Someone who isn’t Amish?” Cheryl supplied gently.
She nodded and let her hand fall to her side. “I know it isn’t
right, but I keep wanting to scream and rant at God, and I just
can’t do that with all of them watching. I’m so afraid I’ll disappoint
them, like I’ll make them think I’m not really one of them because
if I were, I wouldn’t have such doubts...”
Faster and faster she spoke until she broke oﬀ on a sob that
broke Cheryl’s heart. She squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “They’re

people, Rachel, just like you and me. They have doubts and fears
too. And there are moments when I’m sure even Naomi wants to
rant and scream. Plus, they love you. You. Not someone you think
you have to be, but who you are inside.”
Moist tears seeped from Rachel’s eyes and dampened the dark
fabric of her dress. “Thanks for that,” she said, sniffing. She dipped
her head toward a cradle someone had tucked into a corner of the
kitchen. “Let me lay Joseph down, and then I’ll get that coffee.”
Cheryl nodded, and then, while Rachel was filling the pot, she
grabbed a couple of cups and the cream and sugar bowls and car-
ried everything to the table. Soon they were once again sipping
coffee. Hard to believe that just a few short days ago they’d been
doing exactly the same thing when Baby John disappeared.
“So can I ask you something?” Cheryl began, hesitantly trac-
ing the rim of her cup with her index finger.
Rachel nodded.
She drew a breath and pushed up in her chair. “If you need
someone to talk to, why wait for me? Why not reach out to your
mother?”
Rachel blew out a sigh and tucked a strand of her hair ner-
vously behind her ear. “Naomi asked me the same thing when you
were here a couple of days ago.”
“And?” Cheryl prompted, a little embarrassed that she’d not
told Rachel about her and the Millers’ visit to New Philadelphia.
Rachel licked her lips. “My parents are good people.” Her eyes
were pained as she met Cheryl’s gaze. “They’ve always tried to do
the right thing, hang with the right crowd, live on the right street,

you know? They took me to church, brought me up in youth
group, made sure I had a nice Bible and decent clothes. I was a
good little girl. Everyone thought so.”
Cheryl gave a guilty nod. Similar thinking about what made
a person good had consumed her in Columbus, and not that long
ago.
“Even so, I always knew something was missing—something I
could never put my finger on. And then I met Samuel.” Her gaze
grew distant and sorrowful. “His faith was so real, so deep and
personal. Not like the shallow lie I had been living all my life. I got
angry with my parents for never showing me the truth, for allow-
ing me to exist in this fancied up fantasy that said as long as I was
a good girl, I’d get to heaven.”
She sniffed and drew her cup in to wrap her fingers around
then lowered her eyes as though examining the swirling coffee for
answers.
“I tried asking my parents about it. My questions always made
them defensive. Their answer was always that they believed in
God, and that was good enough. Months later, when I finally had
the courage to tell them that Samuel and I were getting married,
my mother accused me of being immature and irresponsible. My
father said worse—that I was a disappointment and that I was
destined for hell.”
Cheryl’s jaw dropped. “Because you were getting married?”
“Because I was letting go of everything they believed in.” She
gave a slow shake of her head. “A parent’s dreams are a difficult
thing, Cheryl. On the one hand, they want what’s best for their

children. On the other, they can be crippling when they think that
their offspring will never live up to the hopes they set for them. For
my parents, the day I left home is the day all the dreams they’d ever
had for me died.”
Instead of sounding sad at that, a bit of bitterness tinged her
words.
“You’re angry with them,” Cheryl said, not as a question, but
a gentle statement.
Rachel looked up, her brows rising in surprise. “I’m...” She
ran her hand over her face. “Yeah, I guess I am. And I’m stubborn
too. The last thing my father said to me was that I’d never be able
to give up my car, my phone, all the nice, expensive gadgets I’d had
growing up. I became so determined to prove him wrong that
I...” She shook her head. “I guess I swung too far the other way.”
Her hands fidgeted restlessly around her cup. Cheryl patted
her wrist. “Have you thought about telling them that?”
A lock of her hair fell to cover a portion of her face. “Now? I’m
afraid they would see it as me running home at the first sign of
trouble. Like I couldn’t hack life here or something.”
“This is more than just a ‘sign of trouble,’ Rachel. You don’t
think maybe they would understand that?”
Rachel bit her lip, indecision warring on her young face.
Cheryl gave her wrist another pat. “Think about it. It may be
that they are just waiting for you to make the first move.”
At least, she hoped so. What she’d seen today indicated some-
thing else entirely. Fresh guilt washed over her, and unable to resist
telling Rachel the truth, Cheryl leaned forward and braced both

elbows on the table. “Naomi, Seth, and I went to see your parents
today.”
Her head jerked up. “What?”
Cheryl nodded. “I know you were worried about how they
might react, but at this point we were fairly certain your parents
had heard about John’s kidnapping on the news. We went there to
encourage them to reach out to you.”
Gradually, the tension melted from Rachel’s spine, and she
sank back against her chair. “And? What did they say?”
“They were a little defensive, which is natural I guess. They
didn’t want to talk about the problems between you with
strangers.”
Rachel nodded as though her parents’ response had been just
what she’d expected. “They always were rather private.”
“They asked about you,” Cheryl added, glad that she could say
so honestly.
Color mottled Rachel’s cheeks. “What about the boys? Did
they ask about them?” When Cheryl didn’t answer, she raised her
eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me. My parents are opposed to the
simple lifestyle. They call it ignorant, even foolish. I think my
mother was afraid that my children would grow up to be unedu-
cated, so rather than watch, she’s closed herself oﬀ from having
anything to do with them...or me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Cheryl leaned forward, thinking.
“Rachel, I don’t know your parents, and I can’t honestly say that
their hearts will be changed, even with time and prayer. But I do
know that I had a lot of misconceptions about the Amish before

coming to Sugarcreek. Maybe instead of separation, what your
parents need is exposure to the things you believe.”
Rachel tilted her head. “But they’ve made it so clear that they
don’t want to see me.”
“Have they?” Cheryl asked quietly, playing a hunch.
Rachel’s gaze fell. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been pretty hard on
them. I’ve sorta made it an ultimatum—like, this is who I am now,
so take it or leave it kinda thing.”
“What does your husband have to say?”
Sorrow darkened Rachel’s eyes as she looked up at Cheryl. “He
encourages me to make peace with them, which only makes me
angrier because my parents have never approved of him or both-
ered getting to know him.”
Baby Joseph made a sound in his cradle, and Rachel immedi-
ately rose and went to check on him. Once he’d settled down to
sleep, she laid her hand on his back, her eyes ﬁlling with tears.
“Samuel is a good man, Cheryl, but he’s hurting right now.
Much as I’d like for my parents to be here, helping us through this
time, I just don’t believe it’s going to happen.”
Her chin lifted, and she straightened and crossed her arms
over her chest. “I won’t risk adding to Samuel’s pain—or mine—
by subjecting him to my parents’ condescension.”
Cheryl rose too, aware that Rachel had said all she would on
the subject. Crossing to where she stood, Cheryl gave her a tight
hug and said her good-bye. “I’ll be praying for you. Let me know
if you hear anything, or if there’s anything I can do.”

Rachel nodded, and then Cheryl let herself out, her heart
heavier than it had been when she first arrived and the path ahead
no more clear.
Casting her gaze heavenward, she whispered a desperate plea
for help. “I’m really lost here, Lord. I’m scared and feeling totally
inadequate. Please, don’t be silent right now. Show me which way
to go.”
As if in answer, a low rumble sounded from the clouds gather-
ing on the horizon and a streak of lightning split the sky. A small
laugh puffed from Cheryl’s lips at the display.
Okay. God was still God, even if she couldn’t see Him or
didn’t understand His plan.
Rummaging in her purse for her keys, she hurried to her car,
anxious to get home before the storm broke. Or maybe, she
thought as she climbed into the driver’s seat and slid the key into
the ignition, maybe it had already hit, and the rain was just one
more reminder that God was in control.
It was a comforting thought as the first drops splattered against
her windshield, one she clung to as she turned the car toward
home.

Chapter Fourteen
With the falling rain came plummeting temperatures.
Cheryl shivered and flipped the switch for the heater as
she pulled into Sugarcreek. At the entrance to Amazin’ Corn, Bob
Gleason, touting a colorful umbrella, hung the Closed sign then
waved to Cheryl as she passed. The Gleasons wouldn’t welcome
the rain and cooler weather. The combination would mean an
early end to their season.
Cheryl drove on, passing landmarks that she was glad to realize
had already become familiar. It still surprised her how quickly she
had come to think of Sugarcreek as home and the people here as
friends. Surely if the Robertsons bothered to try, they’d come to
realize what it was about this place that drew their daughter. But
first, they’d have to get past this tragedy and figure out what had
happened to Baby John.
Passing a sign bearing the name of the Sleepy Dutchman Inn
with a bright red arrow painted underneath, Cheryl slowed and on
impulse flicked on her turn signal. Despite what Theresa Cox had
said, she still had reservations, and, determined to cross at least
one person permanently off her suspect list, she drove the route to
the inn and pulled into the parking lot.

Pushed by the rain and wind, a Welcome sign swung on metal
hinges. Cheryl stopped the swishing of her windshield wipers and
then killed the engine. She’d get wet even if she ran the short dis-
tance up the path to the front door, and there was no guarantee
that Theresa would see her or even that she was still in Sugarcreek,
but Cheryl had to at least try.
Ducking out her door and across the driveway, she skittered
up the path, nearly slipping on the wet bricks. Inside, she took a
moment to shake off a little of the moisture clinging to her coat
before making her way past a rack stuffed with pamphlets touting
local tourist attractions toward the reception desk.
“Guten tag,” a pretty young woman greeted from behind the
counter. She was youthful enough to still be on her rumspringa,
but judging from her full Amish garb, would be making her deci-
sion to stay with the church soon. Her smile widened. “Welcome
to the Sleepy Dutchman Inn. What can I do for you today?”
Cheryl tugged the gloves from her fingers and set them on the
counter with her purse. “I’m looking for one of your guests, a lady
by the name of Theresa Cox. Do you know if she’s in?”
“Do you know what room?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t.”
“I can check.” The girl hit a few keys on her keyboard, the
bright display of her monitor mirrored on her glasses. “Here it is.
Let me buzz her room for you. Your name?”
Cheryl fidgeted in her damp shoes. Chances were high that
Theresa wouldn’t recognize her name, or if she did, that she’d

refuse to see her. “It’s Cheryl Cooper, but she might not remember
when we met. Would you please tell her that I run the Swiss Miss?”
The young woman jotted her name on a notepad then picked
up the telephone and pressed the handset to her ear. After a
moment, she said, “Hello, Ms. Cox. This is Amy at the front desk.
You have a visitor here to see you, a lady by the name of Cheryl
Cooper. She says she runs the Swiss Miss?”
She fell silent for a moment, the pencil she’d used to write
Cheryl’s name tapping quietly on the counter. “Of course. I’ll let
her know.”
Cheryl’s heart sank.
Amy replaced the receiver and pointed toward the opposite
end of the lobby. “Ms. Cox said she’d meet you in the dining room
in about ﬁfteen minutes. Right through those French doors.”
Cheryl lifted her brows in surprise. She’d agreed?
“Oh, okay. Thank you.” She collected her things and then
moved in the direction Amy pointed.
The dinner hour was long past, but a few customers still lin-
gered at the candlelit tables scattered about the room. Cheryl was
surprised to realize that she was quite hungry as she approached
the hostess booth, the savory scent of grilling steaks making her
mouth water. Not that a sirloin and loaded baked potato would do
much for her waistline.
As she approached, the woman standing there grabbed a menu
and ﬂashed a bright smile. “Just you tonight?”
Cheryl shot a glance over her shoulder. “No, actually, there
will be another lady joining me.” She gestured toward a table far

from the entrance in a quiet corner. “Could we have something
over there? My guest and I have something we need to discuss, and
we’d like a little privacy.”
The woman nodded and led the way. Promising to return with
water, she seated Cheryl then placed one of the menus in front of
her and the other in front of the vacant chair.
When she returned, Cheryl ordered a cup of black coffee,
waited for it to be delivered, and then tapped the edge of the
menu impatiently. It had been fifteen minutes. Where was Theresa
Cox?
A second later, she heard someone enter and turned to see
Theresa weaving her way through the tables toward her. Either
she’d taken time to freshen up, or she was the type of person who
looked perfect every minute of the day.
Cheryl stood to greet her. “Ms. Cox. Thank you for seeing
me.”
Theresa shook her hand then slid into the chair opposite
Cheryl’s. “I thought it might be important.”
Cheryl nodded then motioned toward the menus. “Have you
eaten?”
“I have, but thank you.”
Theresa motioned for the waitress but rather than calling her
over, she simply pointed at Cheryl’s cup and mouthed the word
coffee. When it was delivered, she took a hesitant sip and then
looked Cheryl in the eyes.
“I’ve been monitoring the news online. No sign of that child
who was kidnapped?”

Cheryl shook her head, unsure how much to say, but caught
off guard by the concern she read on the other woman’s face.
“Unfortunately, no.”
Ms. Cox’s eyes narrowed as she watched her, and she leaned
back in her chair. “You still think I had something to do with that
little boy’s disappearance, don’t you?”
Cheryl swallowed hard, all traces of the hunger she’d felt earlier
disappearing. “Look, Ms. Cox, I’m going to be honest with you. I
may be grabbing at straws here, but right now I’m desparate for any
information that might help us find the kidnapper. You’re still on
my suspect list, so please give me a reason to take you off, and I’ll
leave you alone and pursue other leads. I just have a few questions.”
This was it. Either Ms. Cox would get mad and storm back to
her room, or she’d stay and listen to what Cheryl had to say. She
waited, heart pounding.
Ms. Cox motioned her on.
Cheryl’s lips parted in a relieved sigh, and she let her despera-
tion soften her voice. “I realize that you don’t have to explain your-
self to me, but it sure would help a lot if I understood exactly what
brought you to Sugarcreek.”
Ms. Cox turned her face away, her lips thinning while she
debated a reply. Finally, she looked back at Cheryl. The set of her
chin, the tension in her eyes and mouth, all said she’d made her
decision.
She leaned forward to rest her forearms on the table. “My rea-
sons for coming are actually quite personal. And you’re right, I
don’t have to explain”—she licked her lips—“except that I agree

with you.” She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “If I
were in your position, I’d be suspicious too.”
Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a sheaf of folded papers
and handed them to Cheryl, who took them and then looked up
in surprise. “What are these?”
Theresa slid a slender pair of reading glasses out of her pocket
and put them on. Tipping her head toward the papers, she said,
“Those are my list of items to look for while I’m in Sugarcreek.”
Cheryl flipped open the stack and quickly scanned the list. It
was quite extensive, and varied, ranging from baby toys and
rattles to handmade bookcases and shelves. Her brow furrowed as
she finished.
“I don’t understand. Do you own a store or something?”
Theresa shrugged. “Something like that. Most of my business
is done online. What there is of it lately,” she added. She took
the papers back and shoved them into her purse. “You see,
Ms. Cooper, several years ago some investors and I started an
online company called Crib and Cradle. We specialize in children’s
merchandise—toys, beds, children’s furniture—stuff like that. It
was going very well at first, and I was able to talk my investors into
expanding. The first actual store opened in Cleveland about eight
months ago.”
The pride in her tone when she talked about expanding faded.
Lines of worry etched themselves deeply on her forehead.
“The problem is, the store didn’t take off as I’d expected. In
fact, ever since we opened our doors, we’ve been steadily losing
business.”

And money.
Though she didn’t say it, Cheryl knew what “losing business”
meant and felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. “And you came
to Sugarcreek because?”
Theresa took another swallow from her cup then slid her
glasses off, wiped the lenses on her napkin, and slowly replaced
them in her pocket. “You want to know what I think is the num-
ber one trick to promoting a new business?”
Cheryl indicated for her to continue with a tilt of her head.
“Convince people you have something they need, and then
make sure you are the best source for them to get it. I quickly real-
ized I couldn’t compete with the larger chain stores. They offered a
price and variety I couldn’t even dream of matching. So I had to
come up with an idea for offering unique products—something
shoppers couldn’t find in every store.”
She waited and watched Cheryl with a keen glimmer in her
eyes.
“Amish goods,” Cheryl said. A bit of the tension in her chest
eased when the woman nodded.
“Rather than offering more of the plastic junk people get for
cheap at every discount warehouse or club, I figured I’d go for
quality wooden goods.” She shrugged. “It works for the Amish,
right? People travel hundreds of miles to buy stuff from local artisans
here and in other places.”
Cheryl frowned. “So why not contract with some of the
people here? Why buy the stuff on your list, pay with cash, and
then disappear? Weren’t you afraid that would look suspicious?”

She tapped the rim of her cup, her gaze darting from Cheryl
to her hands and back. “Remember when I said I had investors?”
Cheryl nodded.
“Well, they’re already showing signs of backing out. My first
and second quarter sales were not good, and when I say ‘not good,’
I mean dismal. I lost two right off the bat. Fortunately, they were
a couple of my smaller investors, but it made the larger ones ner-
vous. I’ve been putting off compiling the third quarter numbers
because I was hoping to have something to show them that would
boost their confidence.”
Her chin quivered—a chink in the otherwise perfect, business-
like armor. Cheryl slumped back in her chair. “You were planning
to use the stuff you bought as templates to design your own
products.”
Color darkened her cheeks, but she nodded. “It was the only
solution I could come up with to keep them from jumping ship.”
She laced her fingers tightly on the tabletop. “I told you the truth,
Ms. Cooper. I had nothing to do with that baby’s disappearance.
My reasons for being in Sugarcreek are strictly business related.”
She punctuated each word with a steady stare that dared
Cheryl to dispute what she’d said. Much as Cheryl wanted to
believe otherwise, she knew deep down that the story she’d just
heard was true, either that or a very elaborate cover-up. And there
was still the question she hadn’t asked and couldn’t answer. If
Theresa Cox had taken Baby John, why would she still be in
Sugarcreek?
Theresa leaned forward. “Do you believe me?”

Cheryl let her shoulders sag. “I admit...I really was hoping
you would have some answers regarding Baby John, but every-
thing you’ve told me makes sense.”
The worry eased from Theresa’s face, and she offered a shy
smile. “Thank you.”
“I appreciate your confiding in me, Ms. Cox. You didn’t have to.”
“No, I didn’t. But I wanted...”
She hesitated and then averted her gaze as a couple swept past
their table on their way out the door.
She licked her lips and began again. “Miss Cooper, of course I
didn’t want people thinking I had anything to do with that baby’s
disappearance, but I also couldn’t risk having attention drawn to
myself.”
Her gaze swung back, and this time Cheryl saw desperation in
its depths.
“I still can’t. It hasn’t been easy for me, Miss Cooper. I’m a
woman attempting to start my own business alone. And if my
investors get wind of the straits that Crib and Cradle is in, I could
lose everything—my store, the online merchandise—everything I
have worked so hard to achieve.”
So that was why she’d agreed to this meeting. She feared that a
police investigation would expose her secret.
Though she was pretty certain she had her answer, Cheryl
lifted her chin. “You do realize your story will be pretty easy to
confirm. All the authorities need to do is look online, maybe make
a few phone calls.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course. I wish you would check it
out. Let me give you my card. The Web site address is on the
back.” She reached for her purse, slid a card out from one of the
pockets, and laid it on the table then added a couple of bills.
“That’s for my coffee.” She draped the strap over her shoulder. “In
the meantime, can I have your word that the conversation we just
had goes no further?”
Though she made the request firmly, there was a pleading in
her eyes that Cheryl was helpless to resist. She shrugged. “No
problem. Thanks again for talking with me, Ms. Cox.”
She blew out a sigh and then rose. “It’s Theresa. And thank
you.”
Drawing her shoulders back, she moved briskly toward the
door. It was a posture Cheryl recognized, but not one she’d used
since moving to Sugarcreek. It was the harried, self-absorbed part
of herself that she’d left behind in Columbus.
Gratitude for the opportunity Aunt Mitzi had given flooded
her, as well as something her aunt had said in her last letter:
Living here reminds me that so much of what I once thought nec-
essary is merely trappings meant to distract me from what is real and
important. I would not trade the peace I now own for anything the
world has to offer.
Cheryl felt exactly the same way. Her life in Sugarcreek had
not been exactly easy, but she wasn’t alone. She’d made friends
whom she loved and trusted, and that was far more valuable than
anything she’d left back home.

Though her conversation with Theresa had taken the edge
from her appetite, she knew that would not be the case later. Giv-
ing in to the temptation wafting on the air, Cheryl ordered a steak
to go and then went home to ponder what she’d learned and seen.
And to wonder where she would possibly look next, now
that she was certain Theresa Cox had not kidnapped John
Swartzentruber.

Chapter Fifteen
Cheryl awoke early the next morning with a more hopeful
outlook than she’d had the night before—a fact she
attributed to an hour spent in prayer before falling into a dream-
less sleep. Near her head, Beau purred loudly and then began
batting playfully at her hair, a sign that he was more than ready
for his breakfast whether Cheryl wanted to climb from her warm
bed or not.
Sighing, she pushed back the covers and padded toward the
kitchen to fill his bowl before returning to the bathroom to wash
up. By the time she’d scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, a
hundred different scenarios had passed through her brain, most of
which included the kidnapper being found and Baby John returned
happily to his family.
She set to work brewing a pot of coffee then pulled a notepad
and pen from a drawer in Aunt Mitzi’s desk and sat down to think.
Why would anyone take another person’s child?
On the left side of the paper, she wrote down all of the reasons
she could think of that answered that question. On the right side,
she wrote general groups of people she thought might possess the
motives on the left.
It was an unsavory list.

No doubt Chief Twitchell had one just like it and had
probably even gone a step further by including everyone in
Sugarcreek.
The two names that interested her most were the two she was
convinced had the strongest motive...Jeremiah and Rebecca
Zook.
Of course, to be fair, she had to consider the possibility that
the kidnapper was in no way connected to Sugarcreek. If that were
the case, nothing she could do would be of any help in ﬁnding
them. Rather than dwell on that possibility, she went back up the
list and circled the Zooks’ names. They weren’t by any means
strong suspects, but it felt productive to have a new direction to
focus her attention.
Business at the Swiss Miss was slow later that morning, so
Cheryl had no qualms about leaving the store in Esther’s capable
hands while she drove out to the Millers’ farm to touch base with
Naomi. The inviting scents of cinnamon and apples greeted her as
Elizabeth opened the door and waved her inside.
“Come in, Cheryl. Maam is in the kitchen. We are making
pies to take to the Swartzentrubers and the Zooks.”
Flashing her pretty, dimpled smile, she motioned for Cheryl to
follow while she led the way.
“Look who has stopped by,” she announced before Cheryl was
fully in the kitchen.
Naomi looked up from the apples she was slicing to smile a
greeting. “Cheryl! I was not expecting you today.” She waved her

paring knife in the direction of the coffeepot. “Elizabeth, please
get Cheryl some kaffee.”
She raised her brows at Cheryl and at her nod, motioned
toward the pies cooling on the counter. “And slice her a piece of
that pie while you’re about it. One for yourself and me as well.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, she crossed to give Cheryl a
welcome hug.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your work,” Cheryl said, return-
ing Naomi’s hug. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in
unannounced.”
“Nonsense.” Naomi gave a wave of her hand and took a seat at
the table. “Elizabeth and I were ready for a break, ain’t so, Elizabeth?
We have been up baking since early this morning.”
The girl gave a wry grin, and the three of them chatted while
they finished their pie. Afterward, Naomi bade her daughter pack
the remainder of the pie into a basket with a pitcher of milk for the
men and sent her to the barn.
“So?” Naomi said, sliding a bowl and paring knife toward
Cheryl. “What happened yesterday that you could not wait to tell
me about?”
Cheryl wagged the tip of the paring knife. “You know me too
well, my friend.”
“I should. You remind me much of your aunt Mitzi.”
Smiling at the compliment, Cheryl picked up an apple and
began removing the skin. Briefly, she summarized her visit to the
Swartzentrubers’ home.

“I don’t know, Naomi. I was so sure Theresa Cox was our girl.
Now I’m not so sure. I’m more inclined to think it was someone
local.” She passed the peeled apple to Naomi for slicing.
Naomi lifted an eyebrow. “I take it you confirmed her story?”
“The moment I got home.” She sighed. “Her Web site, the
store, all of it checked out.”
Naomi’s brow bunched in consternation. “I admit, I am as
confused by this news as you. I was certain she would know some-
thing, but if what you say is true?” She shrugged. “I’m afraid you
may be right about it being someone local, and that means we are
back where we started.”
Cheryl grimaced and picked up another apple. “Which if we’re
honest, is not really all that far. I mean, what suspects do we have,
exactly? Other than Theresa, the only people I can reasonably say
have been acting out of character are Rebecca and Jeremiah Zook.”
Wiping her hands on a towel, she pulled the list she’d worked
on that morning from her purse and showed it to Naomi.
While she perused the list, Cheryl went back to peeling fruit.
When she finished, Naomi lifted her eyebrows and pursed her
lips.
“What?” Cheryl lowered the apple she was paring. “Did you
think of someone I left off the list?”
“Not...exactly.” Naomi folded the paper and then returned it
to Cheryl’s purse. “You see, when you first told me about your
encounter with Jeremiah, I asked my Seth to find out what he
could. He sent word to some of his friends. They told him that

Rebecca Zook is staying with a sister. And she’s alone, Cheryl.
Several people have witnessed her around town.”
Using the flat edge of the blade, she slid the apple slices into a
bowl then set her knife aside and wiped her hands on her apron.
“But that doesn’t make any sense.” Cheryl rose to pace the
length of the kitchen. “Why would she go to her sister’s? Why not
stay here with her husband so they can help each other through
the grieving process? I mean, I can’t imagine you or Seth abandon-
ing each other in a time like this. My parents either, for that
matter. They’ve always said...”
Naomi’s lips pressed into a firm line, and Cheryl halted her
pacing.
“There’s more. You know why she left, don’t you?” She nar-
rowed her eyes suspiciously and propped her hands on her hips.
“What haven’t you told me?”
Naomi shook her head sadly. “Seth says Rebecca is grieving the
loss of her son harder than what is normal because she blames
Jeremiah.”
Cheryl’s mouth fell open. “What? How could losing their son
possibly be his fault?”
“Seth says Rebecca wanted to take him to a doctor sooner, but
Jeremiah kept insisting that he was fine, that what he needed was
rest and prayer. By the time he was diagnosed, the leukemia was
advanced.”
Cheryl returned to the table, her heart aching inside her chest.
“Oh no.”

“And that is not all. Rebecca chose to abstain from church
meetings after she lost her boy. Jeremiah was not pleased and
insisted they go. When she refused to accompany him, he went by
himself and she resented him for it. She left while he was gone.”
The gears in Cheryl’s head began turning as Naomi spoke. She
sank into her seat, her fingers drumming the tabletop. So Rebecca
Zook had a solid alibi, but what about Jeremiah? He’d lost his son
and for all intents and purposes, his wife shortly thereafter.
Granted, Cheryl didn’t know the Zooks well enough to draw con-
clusions, but she couldn’t help but wonder...could Jeremiah pos-
sibly be so desperate that he would do anything to win his wife
back? Grief did terrible things to people—
“Cheryl?”
She startled and focused on her friend. “What?”
“Did you hear what I said? There is no possible way that
Rebecca could have been involved in Baby John’s disappearance.”
“Yes, I heard you, and I agree, Rebecca does have a pretty solid
alibi.”
Naomi’seyesnarrowed.“Whatareyousaying?Youthink...you
do not believe...you suspect Jeremiah?”
Cheryl sat forward eagerly. “Think about it, Naomi. He has
motive, and with his knowledge of the community and the families
around Sugarcreek, he would have had ample opportunity.”
Naomi’s head shook as Cheryl talked. “But to take another
man’s child is inconceivable! It is not our way. He would never...”
“Aren’t you the one who told me that the Amish are no different
than anyone else? That you suffer from the same insecurities and

failures?” Cheryl shrugged and lifted her hands, palms up. “It’s not
that farfetched. Remember Solomon?”
Naomi’s brow wrinkled and then cleared. “Two mothers—one
who lost her child and the other who was willing to give hers up
rather than see her son killed.”
Cheryl pressed both hands to the table to keep them from
trembling in her excitement. “Could it be that we have a similar
scenario playing out right here in Sugarcreek?”
Though her gaze reﬂected incredulity, Naomi did not deny the
possibility. She rose and paced the same path Cheryl had taken a
moment earlier. Finally, she stopped in front of the sink with her
face toward the window.
“We should speak to him. Before we make any assumptions,
we should pay a visit to the Zook farm and give Jeremiah a chance
to answer for himself.”
She turned and looked Cheryl in the eyes. “It is only right.
This is a terrible thing we are thinking.”
Cheryl agreed and went to stand next to Naomi. “I’m free
now.” She hesitated, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Seth
would want to go with us. Perhaps I should ask him?”
“We can’t wait on him, Naomi. If what we suspect is true,
Jeremiah could be planning to ﬂee this very minute. For all we
know, he may already be gone.”
Naomi jerked her head up. “You think he has left
Sugarcreek?”
“Have you seen him since I told you I ran into him?”
Her eyes widened.

“Neither have I,” Cheryl said after a moment. She reached for
her purse and dug her keys out of a pocket. “How far is it to the
Zooks’ farm?”
“About ten miles or so.”
“Fifteen or twenty minutes by car depending on traffic. Let’s
go.”
Naomi put up her hand. “First I must let Elizabeth know
where we are going so she can tell Seth and the others. Wait for
me. I will only be a moment.” She scurried to the barn and
returned a few minutes later, her cheeks flushed from hurrying.
Crossing to a cabinet, she took one of the baskets perched on
top, placed one of the fresh apple pies carefully inside, then cov-
ered it with a brightly checkered cloth. “All right. I am ready
now.”
Cheryl motioned toward the bowls on the table. “The pies?”
“Elizabeth will finish up. Let’s go.”
They hastened to the car, Naomi making it unnecessary for
Cheryl to look up the address on her navigation with her detailed
directions. However, though the clock on the dash said they made
it under the time Cheryl had predicted, the ride to the Zooks’
seemed to take interminably long. When at last they turned up the
winding drive leading to the white clapboard farmhouse the Zooks
called home, Cheryl was a bundle of nervous energy. Even her
fingers were tired from clenching the steering wheel as the car
crunched to a stop on the gravel drive.
Naomi leaned forward in the seat to peer through the wind-
shield. “That is odd.”

“What?” Cheryl shoved the car into park and then craned to
see what it was that captured Naomi’s attention. “What do you
see?”
Naomi pointed at the buggy hunkered next to the barn. “It is
not hitched, yet Jeremiah failed to put the buggy away.”
On the surface, that didn’t seem so odd, yet Cheryl knew the
Amish were particular about their horses and buggies. Normally,
horses were cared for and equipment stowed away before the men
even thought about sitting down to eat.
The tension in the pit of her stomach grew as she reached for
the door handle. “Should we see if anyone is home?”
“Ja.” Lines of concern marred Naomi’s face as she hung the
basket from her arm and exited the car. “I will go ﬁrst.”
Cheryl circled to the front of the car, and Naomi put out her
hand to grasp her arm. “Cheryl, wait. Something is not right here.
Do you have your phone?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. “Of course,
but...”
What exactly did Naomi think was wrong? She glanced toward
the house. The windows were darkened, the curtains drawn. No
smoke curled from the chimney. It looked empty—no—forlorn
was a better word. A shiver traveled her spine.
She inched closer to Naomi. “Maybe we should head back to
the farm and wait for Seth.”
Or Levi. Filled with a sudden longing for his comforting pres-
ence, Cheryl glanced over her shoulder to gauge the distance
between the house and the car. “What do you think?”

Naomi hitched the basket past her wrist and squared her
shoulders. “We are here. Let us at least see if he is home.” She
directed a firm stare at Cheryl. “But if I decide it is time to go, you
must not linger.”
“You’re starting to scare me,” Cheryl said, rubbing the goose
bumps from her arms. “What exactly do you think is going on?”
Naomi gazed at the house, her fingers wrapped tightly around
the handle of the basket. “I cannot say. It is just a feeling I have.”
Her chin lifted, and she nodded. “Come, let’s see if he is home.”
“Sugar and grits,” Cheryl mumbled as they tread the steps
leading up to the wide front porch. Leaves collected in the corners
where the wind had swept them. The screen door banged on its
hinges, and a potted mum begged for water.
“Look at that.” She pointed toward the dying plant. “You
think maybe he’s been gone awhile?”
Naomi pinched one of the dead flowers from a stem. “Not
necessarily. People grieve differently. Maybe he’s just neglected a
few chores because he was too overwhelmed to deal with the farm
properly.”
“Maybe.” Cheryl glanced down the driveway toward the mail-
box and frowned. “I wish I’d thought to check it.”
Straightening, Naomi followed the direction of her gaze.
“Why?”
“A stuffed mailbox means he’s been away awhile.”
“Or perhaps...”
“Overwhelmed. I know.” Cheryl eased to Naomi’s side and
motioned toward the door. “You gonna knock, or what?”

Sucking in a breath, Naomi raised her fist and pounded once,
twice, and three times. There was no answer.
“Let me try.” Cheryl eased around Naomi, pulled open the
screen, and knocked on the glass hard enough to rattle the win-
dow. “Hello? Anybody home?”
She glanced at Naomi. “Should we peek?”
Naomi looked aghast. “Oh, I do not know about that. It
seems...”
Before she could finish, Cheryl had cupped her hands around
her eyes and was squinting to see past the lace curtains hanging
over the window. A living room opened off the front hall. Except
for the arm of a couch, she couldn’t see much. Across the hall was
a dining room, tidy except for a plate still sitting on the table where
Jeremiah, or someone, had left it.
Cheryl huffed as she straightened. “Well, I can’t exactly say for
sure. It looks to me...”
She started to turn, but froze in her tracks as she caught sight
of a bearded face over Naomi’s shoulder. His eyes were narrowed,
his mouth an angry slash as he strode across the yard toward them,
his finger shaking as he pointed at Cheryl’s surprised face.
“You there! Young woman. Just what do you think you are
doing?”

Chapter Sixteen
For several seconds, Cheryl was too shocked to do anything but
stare. Finally, her self-preservation instinct took over. She
grabbed Naomi’s arm and the two of them stumbled backward,
adding distance between them and the man until the door handle
jabbed Cheryl in the back.
“I say again, what do you think you are doing, spying into
windows?” he demanded.
Beneath a broad-brimmed hat, he mustered a glower that
made Cheryl’s neck tingle. Had they truly been “spying”? The way
he said it made them sound like a couple of Peeping Toms.
By this point, the man had reached the bottom of the stairs
and stood glaring up at them, his hands braced ﬁrmly on his hips.
“Well?”
Naomi tsked softly in Cheryl’s ear. “I told you it was not a
good idea.” Drawing her shoulders back, she stepped toward the
stranger. “Guder mariye.” She placed her hand on her chest and
then gestured to Cheryl. “My name is Naomi Miller. This is my
friend, Cheryl Cooper. We are the Zooks’ neighbors.” She lifted
the basket and threw back the cover on the pie. “We brought them
something to eat, but it appears as though no one is home. Do you
by chance know where they have gone?”

The man’s glare softened, but only slightly. Thankfully, his
chin no longer jutted, and Cheryl took that as a sign that he didn’t
mean to toss them into the pasture on their ears. She eased down
the steps until she stood in front of him and stuck out her hand.
“Cheryl Cooper.”
His brows remained bunched and angry looking as he gave her
hand a shake. “Ephram Zook.”
“Zook?” Naomi also descended the steps and drew to a halt at
Cheryl’s side. “You are related to Jeremiah Zook?”
The man nodded. “He is my cousin. I am here looking after
his farm while he is gone.”
“So we were right—he is gone.” Cheryl gulped as Naomi shot
her a look of warning then continued more casually. “Did he
happen to say where he was going?”
Ephram’s gaze narrowed as he looked from Cheryl to Naomi.
“I mean,” Cheryl continued, “if he isn’t going to be gone long,
we could go ahead and leave the pie with you.” She lifted her brows
innocently at Naomi. “Right?”
Naomi’s mouth resembled a ﬁsh as she gaped at Cheryl, but
she recovered quickly and snapped her lips into a shaky smile.
“Of course.” She turned wide eyes to Ephram. “It is fresh. My
daughter and I made it this afternoon with apples from our
farm.”
“You really should try it,” Cheryl said, relieved when the scowl
slowly faded from Ephram Zook’s face. “Naomi is one of the best
cooks in all of Sugarcreek. All of my customers rave about her
baked goods.”

At last, he relented and waved toward the steps. “I guess that
would be all right. Please, forgive my manners. I just did not
expect to see anyone. Would you like to come inside?”
Cheryl nodded eagerly, caught herself, and then shrugged.
“We have time, right, Naomi?”
“Right. We have time,” she echoed.
An actress, Naomi was not. Thankfully, Ephram seemed not to
notice. Their shoes scuﬄed the steps as Cheryl and Naomi fol-
lowed him inside. He led them to the dining room, picking up his
plate as they passed and carrying it with him toward the kitchen.
While his back was turned, Cheryl motioned to Naomi.
Do you know him? she mouthed.
Naomi lifted her hands, palms up, and quickly dropped them
to her sides as Ephram returned from the kitchen wiping his hands
on a dishcloth.
He slung it over his shoulder and then directed his atten-
tion to Naomi. “You say you are neighbors of Jeremiah and
Rebecca?”
She smiled and set the basket on the table. “Ja, that is right.
We live in the same district.”
“Ach, then you worship together.” Reaching toward the china
cabinet, he removed several plates and a pie server and set them on
the table. “That is goot. I have worried about them since they lost
their son.”
Naomi nodded in sad agreement, clearly more comfortable
now as she lifted the pie from the basket. “Jeremiah and Rebecca
only moved here a little over a year ago. I have not known them

as long as you, but they have become dear members of our
congregation.”
Ephram stroked his beard and sat. “My Annie was very disap-
pointed when they moved away from Lancaster. She and Rebecca
were very close. They grew up together.”
He gave an appreciative sniff as the scent of apples and cinna-
mon filled the air. “That pie does indeed smell goot. I miss my
wife’s cooking, for sure and for certain.”
“I am sorry we did not come sooner. I would have cooked you
a roast if I had known. How long have you been here?” Naomi
asked, an admirable nonchalance to her tone.
Cheryl grabbed one of the plates and placed a healthy slice of
pie on it before handing it to Ephram.
“Not quite a week.” He looked uncomfortable as he accepted
the pie from Cheryl, but he continued speaking anyway. “Jeremiah
said he had some...chores which needed tending away from
Sugarcreek. I told him I would be glad to help since my farm
makes maple syrup and our busy season is still many weeks away.”
“It was goot of you to offer. It has been a difficult time for
them,” Naomi said, as though she understood what Ephram had
left unsaid. “Did he give indication how long he would be gone?”
Though they had already eaten, Cheryl sliced two more
pieces of pie, these considerably smaller than the one she’d served
Ephram, and set one in front of Naomi and saved the other for
herself.
Ephram took a bite of his pie. His lips spread in a pleased grin,
and he gave Cheryl a nod. “You were right, Miss Cooper. This is

goot pie. Even my Annie would admit it is as delicious as any she
makes.”
Naomi smiled again and thanked him. “If you’re going to be
staying on awhile, I could bake you another. Or perhaps you could
take one home?”
She was persistent. Cheryl hid a smile around a mouthful of
pie then grimaced as she swallowed. Oh, but she would be walking
off these calories later.
Ephram seemed to consider this a moment. “Well, Jeremiah
did not say exactly how long he would be. I assumed a couple of
weeks, seeing as he was going to Middlefield.”
Cheryl paused with her fork in midair. “Middlefield? Up in
Geauga County? What’s he doing there?”
Ephram seemed taken aback by the question. He set aside his
fork, and his brow lowered in consternation. “Why, he has gone to
fetch his wife, of course.”
“We heard that she had gone to see her sister,” Naomi said,
shooting Cheryl a sharp glance as she folded the cloth she’d used
to cover the pie and tucked it inside the basket.
Ephram shrugged and grabbed his fork. “It is no secret, I sup-
pose. Rebecca was feeling a little homesick, and she and Jeremiah
agreed that she should visit family. But now it is time for her to
come home. Her husband needs her, and she needs him.”
Ephram seemed much less tense now that he had food in his
belly. They chatted easily about his farm and the things he was
doing to help Jeremiah while he finished with his pie. When he
was done, he rose and patted his stomach.

“You are indeed a good cook, Mrs. Miller. Your husband is a
blessed man. Danki.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement of his thanks. “It is
no trouble. I will ask my Seth to bring another one by before you
leave.”
Saying their good-byes, they returned to the car, Naomi stow-
ing the empty basket in the backseat before climbing in beside
Cheryl.
Cheryl set the heater on high and then pulled out of the drive
and swung toward the highway. “Well, that was a wasted trip. It
turns out Jeremiah is simply making amends with his wife.”
To her surprise, Naomi merely raised an eyebrow. “I am not so
certain.”
“What?” She shot her a sidelong glance. “Why not?”
Naomi twisted on the seat, rubbing her hands together with
excitement. “Do you remember when I told you that Seth sent
word to some friends?”
“Yeah. That’s how we knew that Rebecca had gone to stay with
her sister.”
Naomi lifted her index finger high. “A sister. She has four.”
“Oh.” Cheryl frowned. “I just assumed...when Ephram said
Middlefield back there...”
“I did the same when Seth first told me she’d gone because
Middlefield is where Rebecca and Jeremiah are from and where
two of her sisters still live. But her oldest sister lives in Columbus.”
“Columbus!” In her surprise, Cheryl jerked the wheel and then
had to correct before she looked at Naomi again. “Columbus?”

She gave a slow nod. “She is not Amish. She chose not to bend
the knee after her rumspringa. Rebecca went to stay with her.”
“Can she do that?” Cheryl blurted it without thinking and
then backtracked when she caught sight of Naomi’s raised brows.
“I mean, is it allowed if she’s not part of the church?”
“She never took her vows,” Naomi said. “She has not been
banned, so yes, it is allowed.”
The countryside passed in a blur as Cheryl mulled these words.
“Why would Jeremiah lie to his own cousin?”
“We do not know that he did,” Naomi cautioned, but her
voice lacked certainty.
“Okay,” Cheryl conceded, “but are you at least willing to
admit that the signs all kind of indicate that things aren’t exactly
on the up-and-up?”
Troubled lines formed on Naomi’s face. She tapped her finger
against her chin, thinking. “I admit, Jeremiah’s behavior concerns
me. There is much we do not know. It will be worth
investigating.”
Thoughts about their next move spun inside Cheryl’s head.
Inside her chest, her heart was thumping. They had to find
John today. She would never be able to live with herself
otherwise.
Grabbing her phone, she tapped her navigation app then
flashed Naomi a glance, who pointed at the phone.
“You are turning on your map thing?”
“Yep.”

“Where are we going?”
Directing her gaze to the road ahead, Cheryl clenched her
teeth. “We’re going to talk to Rebecca. We need to find out what
she knows about Jeremiah’s whereabouts. That means...”
Before she could finish, Naomi nodded and turned to stare
steadily through the windshield. “We’ve got to find a way to go to
Columbus as soon as possible.”

Chapter Seventeen
The drive from Sugarcreek to Columbus was accomplished in
just under two hours. Traffic was light, and Cheryl navigated
the streets with an ease that was both satisfying and familiar. So
perhaps she hadn’t left the city girl behind completely? Unsure
whether to be pleased or disappointed with the idea, she shrugged
aside the thought and pulled off of the highway to gas up.
“Thirsty?” she said, pointing toward the gas station.
Naomi nodded. “Can I get you something?”
“Water,” Cheryl said. She withdrew the money from her wallet
for Naomi and then flipped the handle to turn the pump on.
Within minutes, the car was on full and Naomi had returned
loaded with drinks for them both. Several sets of eyes watched her
as she hurried back to the car. How easily Cheryl understood their
curiosity. An Amish woman in Sugarcreek was not unusual. The
sight was a little more rare in Columbus.
If Naomi noticed the stares, she didn’t say so. She slid onto the
seat and handed Cheryl one of the drinks. “Here you go.”
Cheryl took a swallow and then rescrewed the cap. “Okay, so
where exactly does this sister of Rebecca’s live?”
Naomi gave her the address, and Cheryl drove another twenty
minutes before arriving at the apartment.

“Well, there’s no buggy parked outside,” she said ruefully.
Naomi quirked an eyebrow and then followed her inside. “Did
you expect one?”
“I was hoping,” Cheryl said, running her ﬁnger down the list
of tenants. “Which apartment?”
Naomi pointed to one near the middle. “That one. S. Graber.”
Cheryl buzzed the apartment and then held her breath,
waiting.
“Hello?”
Her heart pumped double at the voice. Surely they would
learn something about Baby John’s disappearance here. She licked
her lips. “Hi, my name is Cheryl Cooper. I’m here to see Rebecca
Zook?”
Her voice rose at the end in question, as though she really
weren’t certain about her reason for coming. She cleared her throat
and tried again. “I need to speak with her about her husband,
Jeremiah.”
“Uh...what did you say your name was again?”
“It’s Cheryl. Cheryl Cooper.”
There was a long pause, and then the voice returned. “Come
on up.”
A buzzer sounded, releasing the lock. Cheryl and Naomi
pushed through the glass door and then crossed to the elevator.
“So what exactly are we going to say when we get up there?”
Cheryl asked as the metal doors whooshed closed.
Naomi clenched her hands tightly together. “The truth—that
we are concerned for her and her husband.”

The truth.
Cheryl gnawed the inside of her cheek. The truth was she was
beginning to think more and more that Jeremiah Zook was the
person responsible for Baby John’s disappearance, and that
undoubtedly would not play well with his wife, or Naomi and the
rest of the Miller family for that matter. She could only pray that
if Jeremiah did turn out to be the culprit, they would not be too
hurt or disappointed by the news.
When the elevator rocked to a stop on the correct ﬂoor, Cheryl
and Naomi exited and walked down a broad, carpeted hall toward
a beige door with the number 4B painted on it. Cheryl knocked.
It opened and Rebecca Zook peered out, though it took Cheryl a
moment to realize it was her. Her hair was pulled up in a loose
ponytail, and she wore a baggy sweatshirt and jeans and no shoes.
Her eyes widened as her gaze drifted past Cheryl. “Naomi
Miller?” She opened the door a little wider. “Come in.”
Inside, the apartment was cramped but tidy. A pizza box sat on
the counter next to two empty Styrofoam plates. Apparently,
they’d eaten not long ago. The aroma of garlic and sauce still hung
in the air. She motioned toward the kitchen.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
Both Cheryl and Naomi declined, and Rebecca turned to a
pretty woman who looked to be a slightly older version of herself, or
perhaps it was the makeup and sleek hairstyle that made her look so.
“This is my sister, Susan Graber. Susan, meet Cheryl Cooper
and Naomi Miller. Cheryl is the lady I told you about. Her aunt
used to own the Swiss Miss.”

“Still does,” Cheryl corrected. “I’m just running it for her
while she’s in Papua New Guinea.”
Susan shook both of their hands, her grip confident and
strong, and then excused herself to another part of the apartment.
Rebecca pointed toward a worn leather sofa. “Shall we sit down?”
They did, and Rebecca rubbed her hands nervously over her
knees. She looked at Naomi. “I am surprised to see you here. Did
Jeremiah send you?” she asked, her voice painfully hopeful.
That one question answered everything Cheryl had come to
ask. She glanced at Naomi and saw the same concern reflected in
her gaze.
Naomi shook her head. “No, I am sorry, Rebecca. He did not.
We thought maybe you could tell us where he is.”
Her hands stilled and confusion marred Rebecca’s face. “I do
not understand. Are you saying he is not tending the farm?”
As though she were explaining to a child, Naomi gently
informed Rebecca of the reason for their visit, including every-
thing they knew about John Swartzentruber’s kidnapping. “So you
see,” she finished, “it is very, very important that we find out where
Jeremiah has gone.”
Rebecca listened with both hands pressed to her chest and her
blue eyes wide. “There is more, isn’t there? More you have not said
about the baby’s disappearance.”
Naomi looked down at her folded hands. When she looked
up, her eyes were steady, but troubled. “Ja, there is more.” She
nodded at Cheryl. “The two of us have been doing all we can to
figure out where Baby John has gone, but we are at an impasse.”

Her voice gentled, and she put out her hand to cover Rebecca’s.
“Jeremiah’s disappearance is unfortunate and troubling. Rebecca,
we are concerned that his own grief may have driven him to do
something that would otherwise be unthinkable.”
Her face paled. Her lips too lost their color. “You mean kid-
nap another man’s child?”
Naomi clenched her jaw and then gave a sad, solemn nod.
Rebecca jumped to her feet and shook her head vehemently.
“No, Naomi. Jeremiah would never do that, not even for me. He
would never cause to another person the kind of grief we have
experienced.” She turned pleading eyes to Cheryl and back.
“I know my husband, and this he could not do.”
“All right, Rebecca,” Naomi soothed. “But we must still ﬁnd
him. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
Rebecca paced the room, wringing her hands the entire time.
“Perhaps he...he may have...”
She stopped, and her eyes widened. “Jeremiah always said we
would adopt—back when we thought we could not have children.
He said we would adopt.”
Cheryl’s head lifted. “You think that’s where he’s gone? An
adoption agency? Perhaps an orphanage or an attorney? Do you
have any idea where?”
Love mingled with despair washed over Rebecca’s face for a
second before she ducked behind her hands. Great, wrenching
sobs shook her shoulders, and Naomi jumped up from the couch
to envelope her in a hug.

“I don’t know,” Rebecca gasped between sobs. “We never talked
about it. He has been so distant...so hard...and unﬂinching. I
thought I was alone in my grief, and I couldn’t bear it! Now I realize
he just did not know how to deal with his feelings or help me deal
with mine. Oh, Naomi, what a fool I have been. My husband would
do anything for me. How can I make this up to him?”
Naomi whispered something, and Cheryl eased toward the
door, certain that her friend would try and comfort Rebecca and
probably oﬀer words of advice, but Naomi would do that better
without Cheryl present.
Slipping into the hall, she closed the door quietly behind her
and made her way back downstairs to the car. Naomi would more
than likely be tied up for an hour or more. Neither she nor Cheryl
had bothered to eat before they left, and they still had a long drive
ahead.
She looked up and down the busy street. If she remembered
correctly, there was a small mom-and-pop place around the corner
that served amazing hamburgers and crinkle-cut fries that practi-
cally melted in a person’s mouth. She could grab a couple meals to
go and then meet Naomi back here after she’d had a chance to talk
with Rebecca.
Remembering the pie she’d eaten earlier, Cheryl decided
against driving and hiked the six blocks until she found the restau-
rant tucked between a novelty shop and a dry cleaner’s. She pushed
open the door and was immediately struck by memories as the
scent of grilled onions and hamburger assaulted her nose.

This was one of the places she and Lance had liked to frequent
back when they were dating. She still remembered laughing over
chocolate shakes and then walking through a nearby park to shed
some of the calories.
“Lance always did believe in staying fit,” she mumbled to her-
self and was immediately struck by bitterness, thinking how she’d
always tried to please him by pretending the same interest.
She ambled to the counter and plucked a tattered menu from a
stack next to the cash register. After placing her order, she crossed
to the bathroom to freshen up while she waited for their meals to
be prepared. The reflection that stared back at her from the mirror
above the sink could only be described as tired. And disappointed.
Hot tears burned her eyes. Two hours they’d driven, and for
what? So that Naomi could play marriage counselor and she act
the maître de?
The thought wasn’t fair, but given her ugly mood, it was all she
could conjure. Tearing her gaze away, she scrubbed her hands
fiercely with soap and then rubbed them dry on a paper towel and
flung it into the trash can. No sense hanging around Columbus.
Their best bet would be to head back to Sugarcreek on the off
chance that new leads on Baby John’s whereabouts had turned up.
Not that she was holding out hope. Apparently, her prayers
were far less important than some. Otherwise, why would God
choose to remain so silent?
At the thought, another bit of darkness crept over her heart.
It wasn’t fair—the events of the past few days. And at every
turn, her efforts to discover the identity of the kidnapper were

thwarted. Why? Why lead her back to Columbus only to meet
with another dead end? Didn’t He want the kidnapper caught?
Across the restaurant, she heard her number called. She crossed
to the counter, collected her order, and then turned a bit too
abruptly. She crashed into someone and barely managed to keep
the bag with her food from slipping to the ﬂoor when a familiar
voice asked...
“Cheryl, is that you?”

Chapter Eighteen
Lance?”
Cheryl narrowed her eyes and snapped her mouth shut.
Lance! It was him. What on earth was he doing here? And was he
alone?
Her gaze flicked from the counter, to the door, and then back
to Lance.
“Cheryl, it is you. What a surprise.”
Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say how good it is to see me!
“It’s so good to see you.” Lance’s gaze roamed over her from
head to toe. “I thought you’d moved to Sugarcreek.”
Struggling to regain her composure, Cheryl squared her shoul-
ders and lifted her chin. “I did.”
He leaned in with a grin—that devastating grin that once
upon a time made her heart beat fast and her knees go weak.
“Came back for the burgers, eh? I totally understand.”
Seriously? He was going to pretend like nothing had happened
between them? A wave of outrage flooded up from her middle
until she almost couldn’t see straight. She wasn’t love-struck any-
more. She wasn’t blinded by his good looks and confidence. Her
fingers tightened around the paper bag holding the food, crinkling
the edge. “Sorry, Lance. I’ve got someplace I need to be.”

She skirted around him, her teeth clenched so tightly she’d
give herself a headache if she didn’t leave soon. She strode for the
door and was surprised and angered when a hand clasped her
elbow.
“Cheryl, wait.”
Lance offered a lopsided smile—one so full of boyish charm
she could almost smell it. Someone should bottle it. Boyish Charm
by Lance Wilson.
She dropped her gaze to the fingers on her elbow. He immedi-
ately released her and slid his hands into the pockets of his designer
jeans.
“Sorry. It’s just...I really was surprised to see you.”
Her chin rose. “Yeah, me too.”
He tipped his head to look over her shoulder. “You alone?”
Cheryl lifted the bag. “Not exactly. I’m with a friend.”
She said it that way intentionally and then felt convicted for
implying something that wasn’t true. She sighed and lowered the
bag. “Naomi Miller came with me. We’re here to see someone, and
then we’re heading back to Sugarcreek. I just stopped in to grab us
something to eat.”
Was that relief on Lance’s face? No! Cheryl shook the thought
free and shifted her weight to one foot. She refused to be sucked
into the same dead-end situation that had left her heartbroken and
insecure the first time around. “So what are you doing here? Don’t
you still own an apartment across town?”
A large, swanky apartment that cost more than she made in a
year.

He shrugged. “Can’t beat the food here.” He patted his trim
waist. “Got in a good workout earlier today, so I thought I’d splurge.”
Right. Had to keep the poster-boy image. Cheryl frowned.
“Well, I’d better get going. Naomi will be wondering where I am.
Nice to see you, Lance.”
She didn’t honestly mean the last part, but was proud of her-
self for saying so. She gave a pert nod. “See you around.”
“I’m really glad we ran into each other,” he called before she
could escape. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
Cheryl paused mid-turn and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
A flush crept up from Lance’s neck. He motioned toward a
table near the door. “Do you have a minute?”
No. Never. Not for you.
The words rattled in her head, but she didn’t utter them.
Instead, curiosity got the best of her and she said, “Sure,” and fol-
lowed him to the table.
What on earth was she doing? Hadn’t she spent the last few
months trying to forget all about Lance Wilson? And now she was
sitting down with him for a chat? The man had ripped her heart to
shreds the last time they spoke.
He motioned for a waitress then shot her a glance. “Can I get
you something to drink?”
Setting the bag carefully on the table, Cheryl blew out a deep,
measured breath. “I really don’t have a lot of time, Lance.”
“Right.”
Another flush crept over his cheeks. Had he always blushed
like that? Cheryl studied him from the across the table, for the first

time seeing him as a casual bystander might. He was handsome in
a boyish way, not rugged and strong like Levi, but cute. That at
least hadn’t changed. And he was neat. His ﬁngernails, as he
drummed his ﬁngers on the table, were clipped and manicured. If
she remembered correctly, his hands were soft too, from working
at a computer instead of a plow all day. And his arms...
Her mind went to Levi and the sinewy feel of his shoulders
beneath her palms.
No comparison there.
Afraid she’d be caught daydreaming, she snapped her gaze
back to Lance’s face. “So”—she licked her lips—“you said you’ve
been meaning to call me? What about?”
“Yeah, I...” He stopped and ran his hand over his face. “You
know, I really hate how things ended between us. I hope you can
believe that I never intended to hurt you, Cheryl.”
She drew back in her chair. This was not a conversation she
wanted to have, especially not in public. She cast a quick glance
around the room at the other curious customers then dropped her
voice to a loud whisper. “You said that several months ago, remem-
ber? Right before you asked me for your ring back.”
He had the grace to blush. This time she didn’t mind seeing it.
“I guess I deserved that.”
That, and more. She wanted to say so, but instead of giving in
to the urge, she thought of Naomi and what her friend would do
in the same situation.
Cheryl blew out another deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have
said that. Old hurts.”

He shrugged. “No problem. I understand.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Was it regret? Or was it only
her wounded pride that wanted her to think so? She glanced at her
watch. “So, anyway...what can I do for you, Lance? I assume you
didn’t want to chat about the food?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Was he nervous? A bit of pity rolled slowly over her, like melting
chocolate, and surprisingly sweet. Could it be that leaving her
busy life in Columbus behind had made room for other things?
Like—she swallowed—forgiveness?
“No, I...see, the thing is...I never really...” He fumbled to
a stop.
“I thought I would be angry at you forever,” she said quietly,
adding a crooked grin to take the sting from her words. “To be
honest, there are times I still am, but seeing you today...”
Seeing him the way he really was, not the way she’d built him
up in her mind to be, made her realize he was no different than
she—flawed and sinful. And whether he asked it or not, she needed
to let go of the past and forgive him. Completely. Not just with
her lips but in her heart.
Lance’s eyes widened, and a large measure of the self-assurance
he wore like a mantle slipped from his shoulders. He grabbed hold
of her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I really made a mess of
things, huh?”
She squirmed in her chair and dropped her gaze. “Yeah, well,
I guess it’s best we found out how different we are before we said
our vows, right?”

She surprised herself with the words. It was a blessing that
Lance hadn’t waited to call off the wedding. What would she have
done if she’d found herself bound to a man who would never look
at her the way Seth looked at Naomi? Or the way Levi looked at...
She pulled her hand from Lance’s grasp. “You really meant to
call me?”
He nodded. “I wanted to tell you that I realized after you left
what a good woman you are, Cheryl. You will make someone a
wonderful wife someday. I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”
She couldn’t help it—she peered at him suspiciously for several
seconds. There was no guile in his eyes, no selfish motivation or
deception that she could see.
She tipped her head. “Thank you for that, Lance. It means a
lot.”
He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “Are you doing well in
Sugarcreek? You like it there?”
“It’s a slower pace than the one I was used to, but yes, I’m
learning to love it there.”
His eyebrows rose. “No thoughts of moving back?”
She started to shrug and then shook her head. “No, Lance. I
don’t think I’ll be moving back. Even if Aunt Mitzi came home
tomorrow,” she added softly then looked him in the eyes. “I like
who I am there. I’m real. Not the plastic version of myself that I
always tried to be...”
She cut off before she could say the rest.
“For me,” he finished for her, his lashes sweeping down to
cover his eyes.

How easy it would be to lay all her past failures at his feet, but
that really wasn’t where they belonged and she knew it. She smiled
sadly.
“No, Lance. For myself. I had a picture in my head of who I
should be and how I should look. It wasn’t until I moved to
Sugarcreek that I realized how exhausting it was trying to be some-
thing other than the person God created me to be.”
A bit of cynicism crept back on to his face. He leaned back in
the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “So you found God
in Sugarcreek, eh?”
She reached for the paper bag. “I found God a long time ago.
I started listening to Him in Sugarcreek.”
Instead of responding, he searched her face. Unsure if he
found what he looked for, she dropped her gaze and fingered the
edge of the paper bag. “So? What about you? How are things at
the bank?”
He offered a wry grin. “Things at the office are fine. I got that
promotion I wanted.”
She thought about it a moment and then nodded as memory
struck. Lance had always had his eye on the president’s chair. He’d
get there eventually. This latest promotion was undoubtedly a step
in that direction. “Congratulations.”
His grin widened. “Thanks.”
The confidence returned full force. His chest puffed so big she
thought he’d strangle himself on his shirt and collar.
“Another couple of years and I should be running the whole
thing.”

He waggled his brows in a way that was at once comical and
sad. Lance would always believe in one thing—Lance. Why had
she never realized that before?
“Well, good luck. I hope it all works out the way you want.”
Rising, she tucked the bag under her arm and extended her other
hand. “Good-bye, Lance. I’m glad we ran into each other. It really
is good to see you again.”
This time she meant it. It was good to see him and know that
her chances of finding happiness had not ended with his departure
before their wedding. They were different. Too different. And they
wanted different things. She was actually grateful for the knowl-
edge. It made letting him go easier somehow.
He rose and his hand closed around hers for a moment too
long, but instead of bitterness or longing, Cheryl only felt relief
when he finally let go.
No more dreaming about what might have been. She turned
and walked past a brightly lit jukebox pumping out the latest pop
song. She pushed through the door and let it swing shut behind
her. No more wishing for something that would never happen and
in reality, was probably never meant to be.
For the first time in many months, she knew she had finally
found a way to put the past behind her.

Chapter Nineteen
The door to Susan Graber’s apartment closed with a solid
click. Cheryl pushed up from the hallway floor where she’d
sat waiting for Naomi to finish and glanced sidelong at her.
“So? How did it go? Is she coming home soon?”
Her question met with a loud sigh.
“I hope so. Right now it is a little hard to tell. Rebecca will still
have to find a way to work through her bitterness and sorrow. It
will take time to heal from her wounds.”
She turned, and Cheryl followed her out of the building
toward her car. It wasn’t late, but the air had taken on a definite
sharpness and darkness had fallen. Plus they still had a lengthy
drive ahead. She was glad they wouldn’t have to stop again to
eat.
They climbed into the car, and Cheryl motioned to the bag
tucked into the console between them.
“I grabbed us a bite for the ride home. Hope you don’t mind
burgers.”
Naomi patted her belly. “Anything sounds goot right now. I
am ready for something more substantial than pie.”
While they drove and ate, Cheryl told Naomi about her
encounter with Lance. Her emotions were much stronger now

that she could speak without her defenses being up, and she fought
to keep the quiver from her voice.
“We were meant to be here, Naomi, I’m sure of it. Even though
the trip didn’t turn out as I’d planned—or should I say, how I’d
hoped—I still feel like God wanted me to come to Columbus to
see Lance, to talk with him and face my feelings.”
Naomi wiped a spot of ketchup from her mouth, nodding as
Cheryl talked. “It is always God’s will for differences to be
worked out, especially among His people—even if it is for their
sakes alone. This was an important step for you, Cheryl. I’m
glad you found the courage to take it. Now, if only we could
convince the Zooks of this . . . or the Robertsons, for that
matter.”
The Robertsons. Cheryl hadn’t given them much thought
since speaking to the travel agent in Dover.
“Do you think they’re still planning on taking that trip to
Europe?” She plucked a french fry from the bag and popped it into
her mouth then brushed the salt from her fingers.
Naomi crumpled the paper wrapper her burger had come in
and stuffed it into the trash. “I imagine their intentions have not
changed, though I cannot understand...”
The ringing of Cheryl’s cell phone interrupted her before she
could finish. Cheryl glanced at the number and then widened
her eyes at Naomi.
“It’s the travel agent. How’s that for timing?”
She fluttered her hands at Cheryl anxiously. “Answer it.”
Cheryl answered the phone using her Bluetooth headset. “Hello?”

“Miss Cooper? It’s Faith Overstreet calling, from TransWorld
Travel. We spoke earlier this week about a trip to Europe?”
“Yes. Hi, Faith. How are you?” Convinced she’d want to con-
centrate on the call, Cheryl pulled off of the highway.
“Just great! Thanks for asking. Listen, I know it’s late, but I
just got a notification on some really great airfares flying out of
Cleveland. It’s a promo, so the rates won’t last long. Would you
like me to shoot you over the information?”
“Uh, yeah,” Cheryl said, glancing at Naomi and grimacing as
she repeated the message. “I’d love some information on airfares.
I’m driving though, so I won’t be able to check my e-mail until
tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”
“Not a problem. I really wanted you to see these, though,
because I doubt we’ll find a better deal. You take a look, and we’ll
talk soon.”
Acting on a hunch, Cheryl said before Faith could disconnect,
“So I guess you’ll be sending this information to the Robertsons
as well, huh?”
“The Robertsons?” Faith made a tsk sound. “No, they’ve
actually already booked a flight.”
“Really?” Cheryl lifted her brows at Naomi and then said into
the phone, “They booked a flight? That was fast.”
“Yeah. Turns out the trip they have in mind is more business
in nature than pleasure.”
Business trip, Cheryl mouthed, and Naomi frowned.
“I thought they were looking into a vacation?” Cheryl said.

Faith harrumphed. “So did I. I sent them several sightseeing
packages, but Mrs. Robertson told me they weren’t interested. Of
course, I asked if there was something else I could gather material
for, but Mrs. Robertson said they wouldn’t have time because
they’re going to be spending most of their trip looking into foreign
adoptions. Who’d have thought, at their age?”
She blew out a snooty sigh. “Anyway, I was a little disappointed,
considering all the hours I’d spent preparing their travel portfolio. I
guess it was to be expected, given the trouble she told me they’d been
having with their daughter. Still, they’re a little old to be starting
over with kids, don’t you think? You know them pretty well, right?”
“Ah...well, you know,” Cheryl replied, deliberately vague.
Naomi spread her hands in a gesture that screamed for infor-
mation, but Cheryl motioned for patience.
“Okay, well, let me know what you think on the rates I sent
you. If you see something that looks appealing, just shoot me a
quick e-mail or text and I’ll get started booking your ﬂights.”
“Will do. Thank you, Faith.”
“You bet. Good-bye.”
Cheryl disconnected and then dropped the phone into her
lap, shaking her head.
“What is it?” Naomi poked her arm. “Cheryl, what did she say?”
“The Robertsons are looking into foreign adoptions,” she
replied slowly.
Naomi’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her bonnet. “They
are what?”

Cheryl nodded and repeated everything Faith had told her.
“What in the world do you make of that, Naomi?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. It is strange, for sure and
for certain.” She swiveled on the seat so that she sat facing Cheryl.
“Did the travel agent say when they are going?”
Cheryl shook her head. “I didn’t ask.”
Naomi pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and index
finger. “Well, if the Robertsons are leaving soon, we may not have
another chance to speak to them about their grandson. Do
you think we should even bother giving another visit a try?”
Cheryl scratched her temple. “It may not be worth the trou-
ble. I mean, they wouldn’t even let us in the house last time, and
they’re looking into foreign adoptions. I’d say they’ve pretty much
written their daughter off, wouldn’t you?”
“What is ‘written off’?”
“Turned their back—like shunning, because they think there
is no hope of ever repairing the rift between them.”
Naomi wagged her finger. “Anything is possible with Gott,
Cheryl. Just imagine, a week ago you surely would not have
expected to have the conversation you had with Lance tonight.”
Convicted about her doubting spirit, Cheryl ducked her head,
her face warming uncomfortably. “That is true.” She tapped the
steering wheel. “It’s awfully late tonight. What do you think about
heading over there first thing Monday morning?”
Naomi hesitated. “What about the store?”
Cheryl frowned. “Hmm...do you suppose Esther or Lydia
would mind putting in a few extra hours?”

“I do not think it will be a problem, but I will ask,” Naomi
said, “and then I will meet you at the Swiss Miss.”
Back in Sugarcreek, Cheryl dropped Naomi by the farm before
turning for home. The lights on Aunt Mitzi’s porch shone
brightly, a welcome sight after a long and very futile day. Cheryl
parked the car and then let herself inside, dropping her keys on
the hall table as she passed. Remembering the mail, she went
back out to the box for it and was pleased to see a letter bearing
a familiar script and a stamp from Papua New Guinea.
She carried the letter inside, brewed a quick cup of tea, and
then went to sit in the living room. Tearing open the envelope, she
read the ﬁrst few lines hastily.
My Darling Cheryl,
I hope all is well in your part of the world. For me, it
is as though time has stood still.
Aunt Mitzi always started her letters the same way, with an
endearment that made Cheryl feel like someone special. Pulling her
feet up onto the sofa, she slowed and went back to the beginning to
reread.
My Darling Cheryl,
I hope all is well in your part of the world. For me, it is
as though time has stood still. I am busier than I have ever
been, and yet I am learning daily what it means to live each
hour, each minute, more fully and with more joy.

Seeing Aunt Mitzi’s words, hearing her voice, made peace and
comfort seep over Cheryl. She took a sip from her tea while she
read the rest of the letter.
Also, an incredible thing happened. I was witness to the
most amazing act of kindness! Several months ago, a young
woman whose legs were crushed when she was hit by a car
came to the mission in search of medical attention, food,
and clothes. We were only too glad to help her, though for
a while, we wondered if she would even survive.
Praise God, in time, she recovered from her injuries,
but she will forever walk with a limp. She has stayed on as
a volunteer. Her eﬀorts to help others like herself have
been tireless, and I have counted the terrible circumstances
that brought her to us as a blessing. Isn’t that how the Lord
works? So often He uses the worst to bring us His best.
Anyway, just a few short weeks ago, it was discovered that
the man driving the car that hit her had been found, only
insteadofpressingcharges,thewomanaskedifthemanwould
also volunteer at the mission. He was reluctant at ﬁrst. Many
times I saw anger in his eyes—a resentment if you will, at
the hold this young woman bore over him. But not once did
she falter in her insistence that he remain and work alongside
the rest of us. And now...oh, my dear, I weep as I write this...
the young man has repented of his sins and accepted Jesus!
What a testimony to the power of forgiveness! I am
certain that if we but dared even the smallest measure of

grace that this young woman showed, what a difference we
would make for Christ. Please keep her and all of us here in
your prayers as we strive to impact the world for Jesus.
I love you, my dearest girl. I pray this letter finds you and
allofmyfriendsinSugarcreekwell.GivemyregardstoNaomi.
With all of my love and affection,
Your aunt Mitzi
The paper rustled softly as Cheryl went back over the last few
lines.
The power of forgiveness.
Hadn’t she sampled a bit of that same ingredient just this evening?
Tears gathered in her eyes as she folded the letter and slid it carefully
back into the envelope. Granted, Lance had hurt her, but not in the
same way that the woman Aunt Mitzi wrote about had been hurt.
Pushing aside her cooling tea, Cheryl folded her hands and
bowed her head. Perhaps there was still more she needed to learn
about forgiveness...something she had not thought to seek God
for because she’d been so blinded by her own injury.
“Okay, Lord,” she whispered, “I’m listening to You now. What
is it You want me to know?”
Seek My face, a gentle voice answered from deep inside her spirit.
“I don’t know how,” Cheryl admitted, fresh tears gathering in
her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “I need You to show me
what it means to truly seek You.”
And again, she felt it repeated in her heart...
Seek My face.

Further back, the memory of her father’s voice echoed.
“Cheryl, darling, look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Startled, Cheryl opened her eyes and stared at her clasped fin-
gers. How often had she heard those words growing up when her
father wanted her to pay attention?
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, sweetheart. There
now...that’s better.”
Suddenly, Cheryl understood why the Lord had found it nec-
essary to remind her to seek Him. It was because she had been so
caught up in the circumstances of this storm that she had forgot-
ten to really look toward God.
Dropping her head onto her crossed arms, Cheryl gave in to
the flood of emotions seeping past the hidden cracks in her heart.
Her tears washed away a wealth of hurt and unforgiveness.
For months, she’d deceived herself into believing she had for-
given Lance. The truth was, she had simply refused to think of
him, and that was very different. Beginning today, she would learn
what it meant to forgive as God did, with no memory of the injury
and no reflection of the wrong.
Reaching that decision lifted a weight from Cheryl’s heart, a
burden that had darkened her spirit for far too long.
It felt very, very good.

Chapter Twenty
Cheryl had over an hour before Naomi arrived and they left to
head for the Robertsons’ home, so she made a quick pit stop
at the police station before heading for the Swiss Miss. The weather
had turned colder overnight. Cheryl zipped her coat and pushed
her hands into a pair of warm leather gloves before exiting the car
and heading up the walk toward the station.
Delores welcomed her from behind a tall stack of paper and
folders, a frustrated scowl creasing her forehead. At her elbow, a
mug of coﬀee teetered dangerously close to the edge of her desk.
“Good morning, Delores.”
“Hey, Cheryl.” She dropped another pile of folders on the desk
with a thwump.
Cheryl motioned toward the folders. “Chief’s got you busy, I
see.”
Deloresshovedthestackasideandblewoutabreathsoforcefully,
it stirred the hair resting against her forehead. “More than busy.
This Swartzentruber case has us both running in circles.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Cheryl left the entrance and crossed to
stand by Delores’s desk. Using the tip of her ﬁnger, she poked the
mug to safety. “So I guess it’s safe to say there haven’t been any
new leads?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted with a frown, “which is why the
chief has me looking through all these old case files. He’s hoping
maybe we’ll stumble across something—similar profile, clues to
the method of operation the kidnapper used”—she shrugged and
jabbed her glasses higher on her nose—“anything that might help
us.” Her brows rose to form skeptical peaks.
Great. Though he wouldn’t admit it, the chief had to be pretty
desperate if he was resorting to clues from cold case files. And that
meant he was no closer to tracking down Baby John’s kidnapper
than she and Naomi were, a fact that did not bode well for the
Swartzentrubers.
Squelching a rising swell of despair, Cheryl pointed toward the
chief’s office. “Is he in?”
Delores shook her head. “He’s heading out to see Samuel and
Rachel. Elizabeth Miller came by yesterday to help the police artist
with a sketch of the missing child. He wants the parents to take a
look before he posts it around town.”
“Okay.” Cheryl pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat.
“I’ll stop by later then. I just thought I’d check in, see if there was
anything I could do to help.”
Delores lifted one finger then riffled through the folders on
her desk until she found the one she wanted and held it out to
Cheryl. “By chance, does this lady look familiar to you?”
She flipped open the folder. Theresa Cox stared up at her from
a black-and-white photo—the kind that might have been taken
for a passport...or a mug shot. Her hair was longer and pulled
back into a ponytail, but there was no doubt. Cheryl blinked, her

promise to Theresa ringing in her head. She flipped the cover
closed then handed the folder back to Delores. “Yes, she does.
That’s the lady I told the chief about a couple of days ago.”
Delores nodded. “I thought so.” She leaned forward to rest her
elbow on the desk. “Did you know her family has ties to the
Amish?”
Cheryl held her breath. “Really?”
Shoving the folder back into the stack, Delores gave a curt
snort. “Turns out she has a cousin or something over in Lancaster
County who married into an Amish family. It really hasn’t turned
into anything interesting yet, but I’m checking it out, just in case.”
Her heart thrumming in her chest, Cheryl nodded. “Good
thinking. Let me know what you find out, will you?”
Delores gave a pert smile. “You know how that goes.”
Yes, she did—Delores would fill her in on what she could and
no promises on anything else. Cheryl smiled back and gave a short
wave before leaving the station.
All the way to the store, her conversation with Theresa rang
through her head, and a niggle of suspicion she’d thought buried
sprouted to vibrant life.
Why hadn’t Theresa mentioned she had ties to the Amish
when they spoke? In fact, Cheryl had gotten the opposite impres-
sion when she said she’d moved to the Sleepy Dutchman Inn.
“I wanted to get a feel for the authentic Amish lifestyle.”
Cheryl had assumed when Theresa uttered those words that it
had been simple curiosity that had been her reason for checking
out of the Little Switzerland a day early. But what if she’d had a

darker motive? And if she did, what would it take to crack that
nearly impenetrable facade?
Customers waited outside the door of the Swiss Miss. Spying
several of them pacing and a few even moving toward their vehi-
cles, Cheryl hurried to park and then scrambled up the walk and
unlocked the doors.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” she said, smiling politely and nod-
ding to her customers as they filtered by. Two in particular stopped
to peer pointedly at their watches.
“Good morning, Ben,” she said, speaking to the elder Vogel
brother. The two of them came into the store often to play checkers.
“Good morning, Miss Cooper,” he replied, one eyebrow
quirked in question. “Everything all right?”
She bent forward and lowered her voice. “Everything’s fine,
but I wouldn’t mind if you helped Esther keep an eye on the store
this morning while I run an errand.”
The younger Vogel brother, Rueben, leaned forward. “I will
be most glad to help,” he said, nudging his broad-brimmed hat
off his forehead with his finger.
“You can count on me,” Ben said as he removed his baseball
cap and then crossed to the front of the store and took up resi-
dence next to the checkerboard.
Cheryl shook her head as she followed the last customer
into the store. It was a strange ritual these two had developed—
meeting to play checkers but barely speaking to one another. Still,
she was glad their relationship had improved and they were
working on reconciliation and forgiveness.

She paused midway to the cash register. There was that word
again. Forgiveness. God sure had been tossing it into her path a lot
lately.
The doorbell chimed cheerfully, and Cheryl turned to look.
Naomi hurried toward her, her cheeks reddened from cold.
“It is all settled,” she said, blowing on her hands to warm them.
“Esther is here now, and Lydia will come later this afternoon.” She
cupped one hand to her mouth. “Just in case we are detained.”
The trip would take longer than they’d planned, but not for the
reason Naomi hoped. Cheryl had every intention of looking in on
Theresa Cox one more time on their way to New Philadelphia.
“That was good thinking, asking Lydia to come by.” She
grabbed her purse and slung it over her arm. “Let’s get going. I
have something I want to tell you, but I’ll do it along the way.”
Naomi was as perplexed as Cheryl had been upon learning of
Theresa’s Amish ties. She agreed that the information warranted
another visit with the lady in question. Unfortunately, Theresa was
not at the Sleepy Dutchman when Cheryl and Naomi arrived.
They stood at the check-in counter together, Cheryl certain her
own frown matched Naomi’s.
“We could wait around awhile,” she said. “Perhaps we can
catch her when she comes back from”—she hitched her thumb
over her shoulder—“wherever she went.”
Cheryl glanced at her watch. It was already midmorning, and
they still had to drive to New Philadelphia. She shook her head
and collected her purse and keys. “No, let’s go ahead and get going.
We’ll stop by here on our way back.”

Naomi agreed and soon they were humming down the high-
way, Cheryl’s thoughts a whirling, jumbled mess.
She glanced at Naomi. “Can I ask you something?”
In answer, she peered at her expectantly.
Cheryl turned her eyes to the road ahead. “For months I have
told myself that I forgave Lance for breaking off our engagement,
but then, after seeing him again...”
“All those old feelings welled up inside.” She said it matter-
of-factly.
Cheryl nodded and then told Naomi about the Vogels’ visit
earlier and Aunt Mitzi’s most recent letter.
She clutched the steering wheel, wishing she could grasp the
emotions battling inside her as easily. “I feel as though God is try-
ing to make me understand the difference between real, heavenly
forgiveness and the shallow, superficial kind human beings extend.”
She shrugged helplessly. “But I don’t get it, Naomi. I know He
wants me to move past this. I wrestled with it all night. But I’m not
Him. I can’t remove the memory of past hurts like He does, so how
do I extend the same kind of unconditional, no-holds-barred
forgiveness?”
Tension built in her chest as she spoke, mingled with a feeling
of utter unworthiness that made her want to cry in frustration.
Naomi was silent a moment, so Cheryl glanced her way.
Naomi’s teeth worked her bottom lip, and her fingers were rubbing
thoughtfully at her chin. “I cannot speak for Gott,” she said finally.
“I can only say what I have learned from Him, and that is that
sometimes His lessons are not about revealing how unfit we are,

but how perfect He is. Is that not how we learn to be like Him?
Not by comparing ourselves to others, but by comparing ourselves
to Him.”
Cheryl pondered this quietly. “So...you’re saying that perhaps
God isn’t trying to show me how I’ve failed in forgiving Lance
completely?”
“Perhaps. It could be that He wants you to understand how
completely He has forgiven you.”
Was that it? Was that why He kept putting reminders in her
path—so that she could see and understand what kind of gift had
been given to her?
“And what about the Swartzentrubers?” Cheryl asked, glanc-
ing at Naomi. “What if Baby John’s kidnapper is never found? Do
you think that God will expect Samuel and Rachel to ﬁnd some
way of making peace with that? Of forgiving the person who took
him, and allowing God to somehow...somehow...work all of
this for their good?”
Even in her own ears, the idea seemed impossible. Naomi’s
face reﬂected the same uncertainty.
“That will be a lesson for Samuel and Rachel—one I pray they
do not have to face. In my own mind, I cannot even fathom it, but
as you know, we are not Gott. We cannot know what He has
planned for them, or any of us.”
Though it wasn’t the answer Cheryl wanted, she knew Naomi
was right. God could move mountains, and if He intended for the
kidnapper to be caught, there was no place that person could hide
where he or she would not be found. But if—and she shuddered

to think it—God allowed that person to disappear, she could only
pray that Samuel and Rachel would be able to turn to Him for the
strength and peace they would need to bear it.
She smudged a tear from her lashes and sniffed. “Tomorrow
I’m going to write to Aunt Mitizi and let her know how much I
appreciate her letters. I want her to know that even though she is
in Papua New Guinea, she’s still ministering to the people in
Sugarcreek. Me especially.”
A gentle smile smoothed the worried lines from Naomi’s face.
“I think that would be a very goot idea.”
By the time they reached the outskirts of New Philadelphia,
some of the uncertainty had filtered from Cheryl’s heart. In a way,
she realized she was glad she wasn’t like God, able to see all of the
grief and heartache that people poured on one another. That was a
burden too great for her shoulders, and one she hoped never to
carry. Just facing the Robertsons today would be hard enough.
When they pulled to a stop at the end of the street, close
enough to see the beams marking the Tudor style house but not
right in front of the driveway, she turned and clasped Naomi’s
hand. “Would you mind...could I possibly ask...?”
“I will wait in the car,” she replied before Cheryl could finish
the thought. “To the Robertsons, I am simply a reminder of a
choice they did not ask for or want. Better if you go alone. They
need to remember what they have lost.”
She grinned and reached for Cheryl’s hand. “Besides, I think
that is what Gott would want.” Her fingers tightened around
Cheryl’s, imparting courage and strength. “It is you that He has

been speaking to about forgiveness. If ever there were two people
more in need of that knowledge, it is John and Victoria Robertson.
Just keep in mind how much they are hurting too. It will make
talking with them easier.”
She inclined her head in the direction of the house. “Go on
now. And while you are inside, I will be seeking Gott, praying that
He gives you the words to speak.”
Cheryl drew in a deep breath and then nodded. “Okay. Thank
you, Naomi.”
She reached for the door handle, her fingers trembling. It was
one thing to know that God wanted her to act, and quite another
to follow through in obedience.
Her legs felt weak as she walked the same brick path she’d trod
the first time she came to see the Robertsons. Once again, a scare-
crow waved a cheery welcome, only this time the sign was slightly
askew and it was apparent the mums spilling from atop the hay bales
hadn’t been watered. The leaves drooped sadly. Stirred by a gentle
wind, one detached from the stem and fluttered to the ground.
You’re stalling, her conscience accused. Get moving and ring
that bell.
She glanced back toward the car. As promised, Naomi’s head
was bowed, what Cheryl could see of it over the car door, and her
face was creased with concentration.
Bolstered by the thought of her friend’s prayers, Cheryl reached
for the doorbell and gave it a push. A chime sounded deep in the
bowels of the house. She waited nervously, her fingers curling and
uncurling at her sides. She almost hoped the Robertsons weren’t

home. The garage door was open, and one of the stalls was empty.
Maybe they’d be gone, and Cheryl could just leave a note letting
them know she’d been by and asking them to call.
She pushed the bell again. And, again, the low chimes echoed
through the belly of the house. Cheryl let her shoulders relax, sur-
prised to realize they’d been up around her ears. Releasing the
breath she’d been holding, she rummaged through her purse for
something to write on and was about to pencil a note when a step
sounded and the front door swung back a crack.
Cheryl lifted her head. “Hello?”
The door opened the rest of the way. Once again, a dog barked.
“Sorry. One second.” Victoria Robertson scooped the dog up
from the floor at her feet, deposited him in a room off the hallway,
then closed that door and returned to Cheryl.
“Miss Cooper. Hello.” Her hair was neatly combed, and she
was dressed for the day, but her face was devoid of makeup. It
made her look older somehow, more haggard. She motioned
toward Cheryl. “It is Cooper, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Thank you for remembering.” She shoved the
paper and pencil into her purse. “Listen...I know it’s early, and I
apologize for not calling first, but could we talk? I promise, I will
only take a moment of your time.”
Mrs. Robertson hesitated, her eyes reflecting worry as she
glanced inside and then back at Cheryl. “My husband isn’t home.
He had to run a quick errand, but he’ll be back shortly.”
Cheryl offered a small smile. “That’s okay. Like I said, it’ll only
take a moment.”

Indecision twisted Mrs. Robertson’s mouth. Her hand rose,
and she absentmindedly wound a lock of her hair around her fin-
ger. “This is about my daughter, isn’t it?”
Cheryl pushed her purse strap farther up her shoulder. “Yes.
Yes it is.”
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to say more. If Victoria
Robertson wanted to know how her only daughter was faring, she’d
have to ask. Cheryl wasn’t going to volunteer the information, and
she wasn’t going to make the task of turning her away easier.
As if sensing her determination, Mrs. Robertson let her shoul-
ders droop and motioned for Cheryl to enter. “Please, come in.”
Afraid she would change her mind if she hesitated, Cheryl
leaped on the invitation and stepped inside. As before, the hall was
neat and perfect, but missing the travel pamphlets that had clut-
tered the table on her last visit. Mrs. Robertson sidestepped her
and led the way toward a quaint parlor with picture-perfect
furnishings that looked like they’d been lifted straight off the pages
of a decorating magazine.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” Mrs. Robertson’s hands
were clasped tightly in front of her, and her face bore a pinched
look that said she felt as uncomfortable as Cheryl did with the
situation. Regardless, her manner spoke of breeding and she would
play the perfect hostess no matter the cost.
Cheryl dismissed the offer with a wave. “No thank you.”
Mrs. Robertson moved farther into the room. A luxurious sofa
hugged one wall, and a matching chair and ottoman the other. She
perched on one corner of the sofa while Cheryl took the other.

“So”—she licked her lips—“please, tell me about my daughter.
Is she all right?” Her knees were locked so tightly it was a wonder
she didn’t topple from the sofa. Though it wasn’t amusing, the
picture she made somehow softened Cheryl’s view of her.
She slid her purse off her shoulder and placed it on the floor.
“You really love her, don’t you?”
Instantly, Mrs. Robertson’s eyes filled with tears, yet she man-
aged to keep them from spilling over.
She dropped her gaze, her fingers nervously smoothing the
hem of her silk blouse. “Of course I do. She’s my daughter and she
always will be, no matter what happens between us.”
Her bare lips quivered, making her look vulnerable. “I always
wanted children. When I was a girl, I couldn’t wait to get mar-
ried so I could have a family of my own. John and I met after
college, and it seemed as though my dreams were finally coming
true.”
“Are you saying they didn’t?” Cheryl asked softly.
“No, they did...in a way.” Mrs. Robertson looked up, and
Cheryl’s gaze followed hers about the room—from the drapes
that pooled on the floor to the intricately woven Oriental rug
underfoot.
She sighed. “My husband is a wonderful provider. He’s
worked so hard his whole life. He was away from home a lot, but
I have never begrudged him the time he spent focusing on his
career. Taking care of us was his way of expressing how much he
loved us.”
“You and Rachel.”

Sorrow soaked Mrs. Robertson’s eyes as her gaze returned to
Cheryl. “John and I tried for a long time to have children. Years,
in fact. I went to every fertility doctor and clinic I could find—
spoke to every specialist and expert. They all told me the same
thing—my odds of bearing children were not good.”
Her hand fluttered up and pressed against her chest, as though
talking about the pain brought it back somehow.
“I had begun to despair of ever getting pregnant,” she contin-
ued, “so when I learned that I was carrying Rachel...” She paused
and licked her lips then sat forward, her eyes piercing. “I felt like
Hannah must have in the Bible when she begged God for a son.
Do you know that story, Miss Cooper?”
Cheryl nodded. She’d always been struck by the lonely wom-
an’s plight.
Mrs. Robertson rose and went to stand by the window. The
sun lit her from behind, casting shadows on her thin shoulders
and sharp hips. She stared out, her expression so forlorn and filled
with such yearning that Cheryl wanted to wrap her arms around
her and give her a hug, like her mother used to when she was a
girl.
“That story always haunted me,” Mrs. Robertson whispered.
“I knew how Hannah felt.”
She clutched her fist to her breast and turned to stare at Cheryl.
“Can you understand why we felt so betrayed when Rachel left us
to join the Amish church? After years of waiting and hoping and
struggling with infertility, it didn’t seem fair that God would give
her to us, only to take her back.”

Cheryl ﬁdgeted on the sofa cushions. She did understand, but
that didn’t explain why the Robertsons chose to ignore their
daughter now. “Is that what you think happened?”
Mrs. Robertson rubbed her hands over her arms briskly then
crossed to pluck a tissue from an ornate silver box. She inhaled
deeply and lifted her chin. “My pregnancy was not easy. We fought
to have a baby, Miss Cooper.Twice, I almost lost her. When Rachel
was born, we gave everything to her—anything she wanted. And
because I wanted to show my gratitude and appreciation to God
for blessing us with a child, I made sure we raised her up in the
church. Our church.”
“And then she left.”
Mrs. Robertson’s face twisted with pain. She quickly hid it by
pressing the tissue to her nose. “I did everything I was supposed
to,” she whispered, “everything the church and preacher said was
required. I dedicated her back to the Lord. Truly. I did not with-
hold my child from Him. So why then wasn’t it enough?”
She broke oﬀ, and her hand went to her throat. Unable to
stand idly by in the face of her grief, Cheryl crossed to her and
squeezed her shoulder.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” she said softly. “I wish I did.
I only know that your daughter still loves you, despite what you
may think, and she misses you very much.”
Easing to stand facing Mrs. Robertson, Cheryl looked squarely
into her eyes.
“Rachel could really use her mother right now. I’m worried
about her, Mrs. Robertson. John’s kidnapping has just about

destroyed her. You say it’s been hard losing Rachel to another
church...just think about what it would be like to have your child
snatched from your home—to not know if he was alright or what
was happening to him. If it weren’t for Joseph, the fact that she has
to keep going for his sake...well...” She blew out a troubled sigh.
“I just don’t know.”
A small sound escaped from Mrs. Robertson’s lips. She pressed
her fingers to her mouth, her wide eyes filled with fear and dismay.
“What are you saying, Miss Cooper? You think she might...?”
Her mouth worked as though she couldn’t force herself to speak
the words.
Cheryl took her hand and clasped it between her own. “I’m
saying she needs you. Not me and not Naomi. You. Her mother.”
She shook her head as though disbelieving. “But she has her
husband...”
“He is spending every waking moment searching for his son.
He doesn’t have time to take care of himself and his wife too.”
Reluctantly, she let Mrs. Robertson’s hand fall. “I admit, I do not
understand everything that has transpired between you and your
daughter. I haven’t been in your shoes. But right now, she is hurt-
ing, and if you ever want to have a relationship with her again, you
need to go to her, now. Before the damage becomes irreparable.”
Cheryl forced herself to stop. The passion in her heart had
made her words sharper and more desperate than she’d intended.
Still, she was glad she’d said them.
A wealth of conflicting emotions flitted across Mrs. Robertson’s
face. For a moment, she seemed as though she might crumple into

a heap, but then the frown cleared and she stared with pleading in
her eyes.
“Miss Cooper...Cheryl...there’s something I need to tell
you...”
“Victoria? Honey, where are you?”
Mr. Robertson’s voice echoed through the large house. Along
with panic, Cheryl thought she heard a bit of anger mixed with
his tone.
The look that Mrs. Robertson sent toward Cheryl was more
than desperate. She looked afraid. But when she turned to the
door, her features were composed and surprisingly calm. “We’re in
here, John.”
“I thought I heard voices...” He strode into the parlor. Upon
catching sight of Cheryl, he broke oﬀ and the worried look on his
face quickly became one of irritation. “Miss Cooper? What are you
doing here?”
Swallowing a sudden knot in her throat, Cheryl looked from
him to Mrs. Robertson. “I came by to speak with you about your
daughter.”
“I thought we told you last time that we would work that sit-
uation out on our own.” He pulled himself up straighter and
crossed his arms. He turned his scowl toward his wife. “Victoria?
Is everything all right here?”
“Everything is ﬁne.” She crossed to him and laid her hands
on his forearms. “But John, I think we should listen to what
Miss Cooper has to say.”

The scowl lines on his face deepened. “We’ve discussed this,
remember?”
“I know we have, darling.” Mrs. Robertson’s voice rose to
match his. “But Miss Cooper says that Rachel isn’t doing well.”
Her knuckles shone white against the dark fabric of his coat.
She peered up at him, frantically pleading. “She’s our daughter,
John. She needs us.”
He turned and grasped his wife by the arms. “Victoria, listen
to yourself. What about what we need? Are you forgetting the hurt
we’ve been through? What losing Rachel has done to our family?
To you?” He paused, and his voice softened. “Sweetheart, I can’t
lose you too.”
Lose her? What exactly did he mean? Cheryl stepped forward.
“Mr. Robertson, if I could just...”
He whirled, putting his wife behind him in a protective motion
so smooth and quick, it robbed Cheryl of speech. Just what did
he think she intended to do? She stared at him, mute.
He stuck out his hand, one ﬁnger raised. “I’m afraid I’m
going to have to ask you to leave and never come back, Miss
Cooper. Please understand me, if I see you here again, I will call
the police.”
Cheryl retreated a step. “W...Wha...but...I...,” she stammered.
“John, please,” Mrs. Robertson begged.
He shook his head, still glaring at Cheryl. “I don’t have to tell
you this, probably shouldn’t, but I get the feeling that if I don’t,
you won’t let this go. So here it is—my wife is sick. Very sick. Ever

since Rachel left. She’s had anxiety attacks. Severe depression.
Even suicidal thoughts.”
“John.” Mrs. Robertson stepped from behind her husband,
her dark eyes wet with tears and sorrow. “It’s all right.” Once again,
he grabbed his wife by the arms. “No, it’s not, Victoria. I can’t pro-
tect you if you keep allowing these people to drag up old feelings.”
She shook her head. “You can’t protect me anyway. You’ve
tried.” She reached up and stroked his shoulder. “You can’t protect
me from a broken heart.”
He fell silent, and Mrs. Robertson turned to Cheryl.
“It’s true, everything my husband just said. Which is partly
why I haven’t gone to see Rachel, why I haven’t...why we haven’t
reached out to our daughter.”
The tears that had been soaking her eyes spilled over and ran
down her cheeks. She pulled from her husband’s arms and turned
to Cheryl. “It’s not that we don’t love her. It was just too diﬃcult.
Please believe that. I’m simply not...I’m not strong enough to live
without her, and she’s made her choice. It’s not us.”
“But it doesn’t have to be a choice,” Cheryl urged quietly.
“There is room enough for all of you in Rachel’s heart if you would
just give her and Samuel a chance.”
“I’d like to believe that,” Mrs. Robertson replied, her chin
quivering. “I just can’t. She’s changed, Miss Cooper. Not just her
clothes or her hair—it’s the way she talks, the things she says. I
hardly recognize her anymore.”
Her voice faded to a whisper, but in the suddenly silent room,
it rumbled like thunder, and Cheryl knew there was no point in

staying longer. As far as the Robertsons were concerned, their
daughter was lost to them forever, and nothing she said would
change their minds.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last and realized as she said it that she
truly was. This family was broken beyond repair. There was
nothing sadder or more sorrowful than that.
She bent to retrieve her purse and slung the strap over her
shoulder. When she straightened, Mrs. Robertson had returned to
the circle of her husband’s arms. Neither one looked at her as she
passed them and made for the door to let herself out.
Her feet dragged as she left the path and crossed the street
toward the car. Maybe Naomi would have some wisdom about
how to handle the situation she’d just left. As for Cheryl, she’d
never felt so completely helpless.
She approached the car, a little surprised that she couldn’t see
Naomi’s bonneted head above the dashboard. Had she laid the seat
back for a nap?
Her steps quickened. The closer the got, the more certain she
was that Naomi was no longer in the car. She looked up the street
and then back at the car.
“Naomi?”
“Cheryl!”
Naomi’s harsh stage whisper emanated from a neatly clipped
boxwood a few feet away. Cheryl moved toward it, squinting.
“What on earth are you doing in the bushes?”
“Is he gone?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Is who gone?”

“Mr. Robertson.” Naomi’s head poked up from the bushes.
“Did you see him?”
“Of course I saw him. He came into the house.”
Her eyes widened. “And?”
“And what?” Cheryl frowned. “Naomi, come out of there and
tell me what’s going on.”
Naomi straightened, checked the street, and then hurried to
Cheryl. Grabbing her by the hand, she dragged her toward the car.
“It was him, Cheryl. John Robertson.”
“Him, what? What did he do?”
Throwing open the door, Naomi shoved Cheryl into the driv-
er’s seat and then scurried around to climb in on the passenger
side. Panting heavily, she pressed her hand to her chest.
Cheryl’s own heart beat faster in response. “Naomi, what hap-
pened? What did you see?”
Naomi licked her lips, her wide eyes blinking. “It was
him. The person who took Baby John. John Robertson is our
kidnapper!”

Chapter Twenty-One
Cheryl blinked and leaned forward on the seat. “Did I hear
you right? You think John and Victoria Robertson...”
“Not Victoria.” She grimaced and shoved the bonnet back on
her head to scratch her temple. “At least, I did not think so,
although now that you mention it, I suppose she would have had
to know something was wrong. I mean, it would be almost impos-
sible for him to accomplish such a thing without her knowledge,
right? Even if he were to...”
She was babbling. Cheryl clasped her arm. “Naomi, out with
it. What exactly did you see?”
“John Robertson definitely had something to do with Baby
John’s kidnapping,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Cheryl frowned and pressed her fingers to her forehead to
shake a bit of the confusion from her brain. “But, how do you
know? What happened while I was inside?”
Naomi drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Her hands
no longer shook, but it was apparent as she licked her lips and
squirmed on the seat that she was fighting to remain calm.
“I was sitting here waiting for you,” she began carefully. “I
knew the conversation with Mrs. Robertson was going to be diffi-
cult, so when I saw her bring you inside, I intensified my prayers.”

“Thank you,” Cheryl said.
Naomi nodded. “Anyway, I was praying, and then I heard a car
coming up the street from the other direction.”
Cheryl’s gaze followed the direction she pointed. “So?”
“So I recognized the dark blue car as being the one we saw
parked in the Robertsons’ garage.”
“From a couple of days ago, when we stopped by.”
“That is right.” Naomi’s head bobbed rapidly. “He pulled in
and parked, and Cheryl, from where I was sitting, I could see him
unloading baby supplies from his trunk!”
“What kind of supplies?”
“Diapers...large boxes.” She held her hands about a foot
apart. “And other things. Baby formula, I think, and baby toys. I
could not tell exactly because I was too far away, but everything
was very colorful and obviously for babies.” She motioned toward
the bushes. “That is what I was doing in the hedges. I snuck out of
the car so I could get a better look.”
Cheryl bit her lip, thinking. “Okay...but Faith Overstreet
from the travel agency did tell us the Robertsons were looking into
foreign adoptions.”
“So...you don’t think this is something we should investigate?”
Naomi deflated like a balloon that someone had stuck with a pin.
“I just got so excited when I saw the diapers, I did not stop to think.
Still, his trunk was almost full. It is a significant amount of supplies
for a couple who are only considering adoption, don’t you think?”
True. Cheryl rolled her bottom lip between her thumb and
forefinger. To what lengths did a couple go when they were

considering bringing a baby into their home? How much was rea-
sonable, and did stocking up on diapers apply?
Her gaze drifted to the house. “I don’t know, Naomi. This does
sound peculiar. And I can’t get rid of this feeling in my gut that
something is not quite right.”
Naomi shifted to let her gaze follow Cheryl’s. “What did
Mrs. Robertson say?”
Brieﬂy, Cheryl summed up the conversation she’d had with
Victoria. She pressed into the back of the seat. “I felt so sorry for
her, especially when John Robertson told me how sick she’s been
since losing Rachel. I mean, really sick, Naomi. John said she’s
even been suicidal.”
“She has considered taking her own life!” Her head swung
side-to-side. “That is terrible. So much grief in this family.”
“Agreed.” The gears in Cheryl’s brain whirred busily. “I know
they’ve been through a lot, and I guess I could understand them
wanting another child. They’re young enough. I mean, Victoria
Robertson still looks like she could be Rachel’s sister.”
“Ja. And nowadays, it is not uncommon for couples to wait
until they are older to begin their families.”
“So then why do I have such a strange feeling right here?”
Cheryl pressed her hand to her stomach.
“As do I. The minute I saw Mr. Robertson pull into his drive-
way, I got a sick feeling in my heart.”
Cheryl grabbed the steering wheel and stuck out her chin. “I
think we should take a peek inside the Robertsons’ garage. What
do you say?”

An impish glint sparkled in Naomi’s eyes. “The door is open.”
“It wouldn’t be breaking and entering.”
“We would just be looking...perhaps as we walked by.”
Cheryl pulled one of the TransWorld pamphlets from her
purse. “I could ask them about this, if they happen to catch us in
the act. Well?”
Naomi reached for the door handle. “Let’s go.”
Cheryl needed no further prompting. She hopped out of the
car and joined Naomi on the sidewalk. “Okay, I’ll take the left side,
closest to the house. If I see anyone coming, I’ll call out. Like this.”
She ﬂapped her arms and made a crowing sound. “Caw-caw.”
Naomi eyed her quizzically. “What was that?”
“You know, a bird?”
Naomi frowned.
“Fine.” Cheryl dropped her arms. “It was a joke anyway.”
Shaking her head, Naomi gestured toward the garage. “I’ll take
the right side, next to where Mr. Robertson parked. There must be
shelves or something inside the garage. I didn’t see him carry any-
thing into the house.”
“No, he was empty-handed, at least he was by the time he
joined us in the parlor.”
Naomi squared her shoulders. “All right then, let’s see what he
has stored in there.”
Though they tried to look inconspicuous, Cheryl couldn’t help
hunching her shoulders as they approached the house. The drive-
way seemed even longer than it had before, and the path leading
to the front door much shorter. Her breathing quickened as they

neared the garage door, but despite the barking of a dog several
houses down, nothing stirred inside the Robertsons’.
She motioned toward the car. “You go ﬁrst,” she whispered.
“I’ll stand watch.”
Naomi ducked inside and disappeared like a shadow. Hon-
estly, the woman could’ve been a cat burglar. Cheryl waited a
moment longer and then joined her next to Mr. Robertson’s dark
blue BMW.
Naomi motioned toward a row of cupboards mounted to the
wall. “I’ll check those ﬁrst.”
Cheryl nodded and pointed toward a metal rolling cabinet.
“I’ll see what’s inside there.”
A cursory examination revealed basic tools, wrenches, even
several tubes of grease and lubricants, but no baby supplies. She
moved on toward a heavy looking workbench with a removable
top. Inside, Mr. Robertson had packed all of his electric and gas
powered lawn equipment—a leaf blower, hedge trimmer, and the
sort. She sighed and peeked over the roof of the cars to check
Naomi’s progress.
“Anything?”
Naomi’s bonnet was slightly askew, as though she’d actually
poked her head inside the cabinet to look. She frowned and pushed
it back into place. “Nothing. Just a lot of bug sprays and cans of
oil.”
She eased the cupboard door closed then propped her hands
on her hips. “Where could he have possibly put the baby supplies?
I know he couldn’t have taken them far.”

Cheryl bit oﬀ a sigh of frustration. Just over Naomi’s shoulder
was a door she’d not noticed before. She pointed. “Where do you
suppose that goes?”
Her eyes widened. “The house?” Her voice lowered to a
whisper.
“Can’t be.” Cheryl jerked her thumb toward the door to her
right. “The house is that way.”
Inching to Naomi’s side, they stared at the knob for a moment,
and then Cheryl gave it a cautious turn. It wasn’t locked and
creaked open just enough to peek through.
“A storage room,” Cheryl whispered.
“Ja,” Naomi said, “and look at that.”
She pointed to the far wall. Floor to ceiling shelves packed the
back of the room, but more importantly, they were ﬁlled with
supplies. Lots of them. Cheryl had seen Costcos that didn’t stock
as much inventory.
She pushed farther into the room. Along with diapers Naomi
had seen Mr. Robertson unloading, boxes of powdered formula,
jars of baby food, and bottles of baby lotions and soaps bulged
from the shelves.
She picked up one of the jars of baby food and held it toward
Naomi. “All of this for a kid they don’t even have yet? And how do
they even know it will be a baby? What if it’s a toddler, or older?
Granted, I don’t know much about foreign adoptions, but it’s not
like going to a department store and picking out a baby.”
Naomi’s face bore a look of shock. Cheryl lowered the baby
food. “Hey, are you all right? What is it?”

Her finger shaking, she pointed at a trash can tucked into one
corner of the storage room, where cans were piled at the top of the
trash—baby formula cans. And they were empty. With her thumb
and index finger she gingerly tugged aside the cans. Below were
white plastic garbage bags stuffed with more trash, and though the
bags weren’t clear, the contents were easily discernible.
Her mouth fell open. She backed up a step. “Oh my goodness.”
“Cheryl, look out,” Naomi whispered sharply, earnestly, but it
was too late.
Cheryl’s hip connected with one of the shelves. She whirled
and tried to keep some of the boxes from clattering to the floor.
Next to her, Naomi dove in to help.
“Quick, help me put everything back,” Cheryl hissed, shoving
one of the boxes into Naomi’s waiting hands.
She pushed it onto the shelf and wagged her hands impa-
tiently. “Hurry, give me the next one.”
Cheryl bent to grab an armload of diapers. Before she could
straighten, her breath caught and she stumbled into the trash can,
nearly toppling that as well.
“Cheryl, be careful,” Naomi warned.
“Uh...Naomi?” Cheryl said, loudly.
“Shh,” Naomi urged, her back still turned as she tried desper-
ately to straighten the shelves.
“Naomi, I think you’d better take a look,” Cheryl ordered,
chills running the length of her spine and her eyes fixed to the spot
on the floor where the diapers had been.
She was staring at a pair of expensive black leather shoes.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Cheryl’s gaze traveled upward from the shoes, over a pair of
pleated gray pants, to the scowling, disbelieving face of John
Robertson.
“What on earth are you doing?” he sputtered. “How dare you
enter my garage!” He grabbed the box from Cheryl’s hands and
returned it the shelf then turned to stare at them, his gaze bounc-
ing from Cheryl to Naomi. “Well? Are one of you going to explain
what is going on?”
“We...uh...” Naomi’s mouth went slack, and she stared at
Cheryl for help.
Eyes narrowed, Cheryl pointed accusingly at him. “We know
what you’re doing with all of these supplies, Mr. Robertson.”
His jaw ﬁrmed, and he crossed his arms. “Really. And what is
that?”
Cheryl swallowed quickly. “These are all things for a baby.”
“You’re right. They are.”
He didn’t even blink. Cheryl hesitated then lifted her chin.
“So...why do you have them?”
“You mean Miss Overstreet didn’t tell you?”
Next to her, Naomi gasped.
“Miss Overstreet?” Cheryl repeated, her chin lowering.

“The travel agent from TransWorld Travel. You did speak with
her, did you not?”
Mr. Robertson wore a smug look that set Cheryl’s teeth on
edge. She crossed her arms. “How did you know about that?”
“The same way that you found out that Victoria and I were
looking into foreign adoptions. Faith told us. She’s a nice girl, but
rather chatty, don’t you think?”
Naomi tugged on Cheryl’s arm. “Maybe we should go.”
“Yes, I think that would be a very good idea,” Mr. Robertson
replied firmly. He directed a stern glare at Naomi. “I must say, I’m
quite surprised. I thought you people were above trespassing.”
“Now hold on,” Cheryl interrupted, stepping in front of her
friend.
“No, he is right.” She laid her hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. “We
are here uninvited.”
“That may be, but we need answers.” Cheryl pointed a finger
at Mr. Robertson. “Where are you keeping Baby John? Is there
someone helping you hide him? How...”
“Cheryl, please. We should not make this any worse than it
is.”
“Good thinking,” Mr. Robertson sneered, turning his glare on
Cheryl. “At least your friend realizes how serious this is. I could
call the police you know and have you arrested.”
“Cheryl!” Naomi tugged on her arm desperately.
Playing a hunch, Cheryl turned and fixed her with a reassur-
ing glance. “Don’t worry, Naomi. He’s not going to call the
police.”

John Robertson stepped forward, his mouth agape. “Seriously?
You actually think I’m going to let you get away with trespassing?
Not to mention harassment!”
Cheryl also took a step forward and stared at him eye to eye.
“Yes, Mr. Robertson, I do,” she said, infusing the words with
more confidence than she actually felt.
“And why is that?” he demanded, his gaze daring her to
continue.
She pointed at the trash can. “Because I really don’t think you
want the police to discover what you have hidden in there.”
His gaze swung to the trash can and back. In his eyes, she saw
a bit of the bravado fade. His mouth worked a second, and then he
looked at Naomi. “Are you leaving or not?”
Her confidence growing, Cheryl slipped her arm through
Naomi’s and jutted out her chin. “She’s staying, and so am I. And
you”—she jabbed her finger at his chest—“you are going to take
us back inside that house and explain exactly what is going on or
I’m going to be the one calling the police.”
“Cheryl!” Naomi pulled back slightly, her mouth a shocked
little O. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying there are more than just empty formula cans in the
trash, aren’t there, Mr. Robertson?”
She took a step toward the trash can, hoping desperately that
she’d been right about what she’d seen. If not, chances were
good that she and Naomi would be spending the night in a
New Philadelphia jail cell—something they’d be hard pressed to

explain to their families...or the media. She held her breath and
motioned toward the can.
“Well? Should we look, or are you going to bring us inside?”
“I am not going to bring you inside!” His face turned a mot-
tled red, and he leaned toward her threateningly. “And believe me,
anything you think might be in that can will be long gone before
the police get here to check.”
Cheryl’s hand shook as she slid her phone from her pocket and
held it up. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I took pictures.”
Her heart pounded while she waited for his reply. “Well?”
He stared at her, his face colder than marble and his eyes like
slivers of gray steel. Just when she feared she’d been wrong, his
shoulders slumped and he turned slowly, his feet dragging as he led
the way back through the garage toward the house.
Naomi grabbed Cheryl, her ﬁngers biting like teeth into her
arm. “You don’t have any pictures.”
“He doesn’t know that,” Cheryl whispered back.
“What on earth did you see?”
“I’m really not sure...just something that looked like...” She
shook her head. “Let’s go.”
She made for the exit, Naomi close behind at her elbow. Inside,
the door from the garage opened into a rather large, gourmet
kitchen which boasted the latest stainless steel appliances. Granite
countertops graced sleek black cabinets, and from the ceiling an
ornate chandelier gleamed.
Mr. Robertson had indeed provided well for his family.

He stopped at the threshold and held up his hand. “Wait here.
I’ll get my wife. We’ll only be a moment.” He spun on his heel and
disappeared.
Naomi blew out a shuddering breath. “Well? Do we wait?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Cheryl replied, jerking her thumb
over her shoulder. “The garage is that way, and if my hunch is cor-
rect, they’ll be too bogged down to flee on foot.”
“Flee? Why would they do that? And what would bog them
down?” Naomi’s lips thinned. “You saw something else in that trash
can. What was it?”
“Diapers,” Cheryl replied. “Used ones. The Robertsons aren’t
planning for a baby. They already have one.”
Naomi’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But how can that
be—?”
She got no further. At that moment, Mr. Robertson returned.
On his heels was Mrs. Robertson and in her arms...
Naomi shoved past Cheryl, her mouth slack. “John?”
Her strained whisper reflected the same shock Cheryl felt. She
took a step forward, staring into an angelic face, whose likeness had
been plastered on newspapers and television stations across the state.
Ripping her gaze from John’s face, Cheryl stared at Victoria
Robertson. “You had him this whole time?”
Desperation and pleading filled her eyes. “You have to let us
explain.”
Cheryl drew back as though she’d seen a snake. “What is there
to explain? Do you even know what you’ve done? Your daughter
has been sick with worry...”

She broke off and fumbled in her purse for her phone.
Mr. Robertson jerked toward her. “What are you doing?”
Cheryl backed away, her hand up to stop Mr. Robertson from
advancing farther. “I’m calling the police!”
“You can’t do that!”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I can! You kidnapped a child
from his home! What kind of person does that?”
Frightened by the loud voices, Baby John began to wail.
Victoria too cried out and buried her face in the baby’s small chest.
“Cheryl.” Naomi grabbed her hand, stopping her from dialing
911. “Cheryl, wait.”
“Wait for what? These t...two...they...” Cheryl stammered
to a stop. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her heart was
slamming hard against her ribs, but Naomi appeared calm.
“Wait,” she said again, quieter, and directed a pointed look at
the Robertsons.
Cheryl’s gaze drifted to Victoria, still sobbing, and then to
John, who looked as though the last bit of strength he possessed
had been sapped from his bones. Though he patted his wife’s back
in a vain attempt to offer comfort, his shoulders shook and silent
tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Maybe we should hear them out first,” Naomi said.
At her words, Mr. Robertson’s head lifted and he stared at
them. In his watery eyes, Cheryl glimpsed a spark of hope. Could
it be? Was he the monster she thought him, or something else?
She motioned cautiously toward a tall black table at the rear of
the kitchen. “Maybe we should sit down.”

Mr. Robertson blew out a shuddering sigh. Grasping his wife’s
elbow, he led her to the table and they all sat, the Robertsons occu-
pying the seats opposite Cheryl and Naomi.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice strained.
Now that the shouting had ceased, Baby John’s cries quieted.
Mrs. Robertson snuggled him close. She still had not spoken, but
her eyes pleaded for something Cheryl was not quite sure she
could give.
“What happened?” she demanded, clasping her fingers tightly
in her lap to still their trembling. “Start from the beginning.”
Mr. Robertson ran his fingers through his graying hair. “The
beginning?” he repeated. “If only I knew where that was. I could
say this all started the night Rachel told us she was leaving, but if
I’m honest, it was long before that.”
His gaze shifted to his wife and the small child cradled in her
arms. “I was never here for them when Rachel was growing up. If
I could go back and change that, God knows, I would.”
Regret and grief made his voice thick. He swallowed, his
Adam’s apple bobbing in his corded throat. He ran his fingers
through his hair once more. There would be a lot to tell, that much
was certain, but for now, Cheryl only wanted...needed...to
know one thing.
“The kidnapping,” she said, in a low, measured tone. “Tell us
about that.”
“It wasn’t planned,” Mrs. Robertson blurted, startling them all
including Baby John. He jumped and his tiny fists flailed in the
air, but he immediately soothed and settled back to sleep when

Mrs. Robertson gently ran her fingers over his cheek. Bending low,
she kissed the top of his head then took a deep breath and
whispered, “I only stopped by to see Rachel.”
“Victoria, no.” Mr. Robertson grabbed his wife’s hand and
held on tight then turned to glare at Cheryl. “It was me. Not her.
That’s all you need to know.”
“No, John.”
He looked at her, and she shook her head sadly. “We have to
tell them the truth. All of it.” Her gaze swung back to Cheryl and
Naomi, and her eyes filled with tears. “I swear, I never intended to
take him, but then you were there, and Rachel was busy, and I saw
my opportunity.”
A sob tore from her throat, and she turned her face toward her
husband, who gathered both her and the baby into his arms.
“So you took him?” Naomi said quietly.
There was a moment of prolonged sniffling and then
Mrs. Robertson nodded. “That’s right.”
“And the dog biscuit?” Cheryl asked. If it was true that the
kidnapping wasn’t premeditated, what had she been doing with
the treat for Rufus?
“They’re for our dog,” John Robertson said. “She always carries
one in her purse.” He looked at his wife. “The moment she returned
home, I knew what she’d done and why.” Resolve darkened his eyes,
made them strong once more. “I had to protect my wife. I had to,
no matter what it cost anyone else, or what it cost our daughter.”
The pain on his face stabbed Cheryl’s heart like a knife. “But
you had to know how devastating this would be to her, and

everyone in Sugarcreek. What did you think would happen, that
we would just stop looking?”
Mr. Robertson shook his head and pulled an envelope from a
pocket in his shirt. Inside were two tickets to Europe. He laid
them carefully on the table. “Once things settled down, Victoria
and I planned to leave, disappear for a couple of years. We spread
the rumors regarding foreign adoption carefully so that when we
returned with a toddler, no one would ever suspect.”
“And Joseph?” Naomi asked. Of them all, hers was the only
voice that still sounded calm. “Why did you leave him?”
Anguish tore at Victoria Robertson’s features. She pressed her
nose to the top of Baby John’s head and breathed deep. Finally, she
said, “Despite what you may think of me, I couldn’t do that to
Rachel. Losing them both would have been...”
She trailed oﬀ, and Mr. Robertson clasped her hand. He turned
to Naomi. “Besides, Victoria knew we couldn’t take the chance.
Coming back with two boys would have been impossible.”
Surprised by his honesty, Cheryl could only stare. “But com-
ing back with one of the boys was?”
Mr. Robertson gave a weak shrug. “We were desperate,
Miss Cooper. Desperate and crazy with grief. For all intents and
purposes, our daughter was gone, lost to us forever. Baby John was
a way of getting her back.”
“A piece of her anyway,” Mrs. Robertson whispered, gazing at
her grandson with so much love and longing it was painful to
watch. Her head lifted. “But then you came. And you.” Her gaze
shifted to Naomi. “And you told us how much Rachel was

suffering. I almost couldn’t stand it. We thought about coming
forward then...giving Baby John back...but I couldn’t bear the
thought of...losing him too...”
She broke off, silent sobs robbing her of words. Her hand flut-
tered to her eyes and she tried to rub away the tears, only to have
them replaced by new ones. “It’s no excuse. I know it’s not. We
were wrong.”
“We admit that. We’ll face the consequences,” Mr. Robertson
added when his wife couldn’t continue. “But if there’s any way...if
you could possibly see a way to let us be the ones to take the baby
back to his family...”
He trailed off, his face twisted and pleading.
Cheryl sucked in a breath. So that was what they wanted.
Turmoil turned her insides to mush. The right thing—the correct
and legal thing—would be to call the police and let them handle
things. But what would Rachel and Samuel want?
She glanced at Naomi. “I don’t...I just don’t know,” she
whispered quietly.
Naomi sucked in a breath, her cheeks puffing as she blew it out.
Finally, her gaze came to rest on the baby. “I do not know what the
law has to say. But my heart says if this family is ever to have any
hope of forgiving one another, it must be as John Robertson says.”
Forgiveness? Was she serious? Cheryl’s eyes rounded, and her
mouth fell open. Forgiving the Robertsons would be like...like...
Like forgiving Lance.
Heat washed up from Cheryl’s stomach and burned her cheeks.
No, forgiving Lance was easy compared to what this family faced.

She looked at Victoria. She felt sorry for her, but this time it was
because of the battle that lay ahead, not what lay behind.
“It won’t be easy,” she said quietly. “They may refuse to see you
or speak with you once the baby is returned.”
Victoria licked her lips and nodded.
Cheryl’s gaze shifted to Mr. Robertson. “And the police will
have to be involved eventually, no matter how Rachel and Samuel
react when they ﬁnd out the truth.”
He reached out to clasp his wife’s hand and then looked
back at Cheryl, his gaze steady and calm despite the tremor that
shook his chin. “We’ll turn ourselves in the moment we get to
Sugarcreek.”
“That’s good. I’m sure it will help.” Cheryl turned to Naomi.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded and held her hand out to Mrs. Robertson. “Come.
I will help you pack some things for the baby.”
Mrs. Robertson accepted her help gratefully, and the two of
them exited the kitchen, leaving Cheryl to sit alone with
Mr. Robertson.
He blew out a sigh then rubbed both hands against the table-
top. “I know you probably won’t believe this, but in a way, I’m glad
it’s over. The lies were tearing us both apart.”
“Actually, I do believe you,” Cheryl replied quietly, her
thoughts winging to Lance.
Their gazes met and held, and then Mr. Robertson’s mouth
turned in a sad sort of smile. “I don’t suppose there is any way I
could convince you to let me take the fall, instead of my wife?”

“You would do that?”
He looked away, but not before Cheryl saw his eyes ﬁll with
tears. “My wife has never been a strong woman. Not like you or
Mrs. Miller. I’m afraid for her, Miss Cooper. And I have never, ever
felt so helpless in my entire life.”
Strong? Her? Naomi, yes, but Cheryl had never thought of
herself in that way. Perhaps it was because she was only just begin-
ning to ﬁnd herself.
Had found herself, she corrected as she rose to stand with John
Robertson. She’d found herself in Sugarcreek, Ohio.
She liked what she saw.

Chapter Twenty-Three
The drive back to Sugarcreek was accomplished with very few
words. Except for the occasional gurgle from Baby John, no
one spoke. Naomi sat in the seat next to her, her lips moving in
silent prayer. In the rearview, Victoria Robertson kept her gaze
lowered. Every now and then she wiped away a tear. John
Robertson stared out the window, the muscles in his jaw clenched
and tense.
Only when the Swartzentruber farm came into view did
she hear a small gasp from the backseat and knew that Victoria
Robertson was preparing herself for the scene that lay ahead.
Naomi put her hand on Cheryl’s arm. She slowed the car in
response. Naomi twisted to look at the Robertsons.
“I think it would be best if you let me go inside first and...
prepare Rachel and Samuel, ja? I will not explain. I will let the two
of you do that. I will simply let them know that Baby John is back,
and he is safe. Otherwise, I fear the shock might be too much.”
In the rearview, Cheryl saw Mr. Robertson nod. “I agree.
That’s a good idea, right Victoria?”
She too nodded, but her gaze remained fixed to the child
tucked into the carseat between them. Baby John’s fist flailed in
the air. She caught his fingers and pressed them with a kiss.

“I’ll wait too,” Cheryl said as she pulled into the drive.
Not that she thought the Robertsons would try to flee. Having
spoken with Mr. Robertson, she felt confident that he was truly
glad to see this coming to an end. Instead, she wanted to sit with
them, offer silent support and comfort. Strange, considering she’d
been determined to turn them over to the police just a few short
hours ago.
Buggies lined both sides of the driveway. Outside the barn,
several men stood talking. They looked up when they heard her car
approaching and watched as Naomi climbed out alone.
She ducked to look inside the car at Cheryl. “Pray,” she ordered
softly and then looked at the Robertsons. “You too. Both of you.
This will be difficult.”
Both of the Robertsons nodded, and clasped each other’s hand
tightly over the car seat. Cheryl waited, tense and breathless, as
Naomi went inside. Her jaw ached from clenching it, and nausea
rolled inside her stomach. She could only imagine how John and
Victoria felt.
Finally, the front door swung open. Cheryl straightened. In
the backseat, she felt the Robertsons do the same. She expected
Samuel, or even Rachel, but it was Levi who approached, the set of
his shoulders determined.
He circled to Cheryl’s door. She rolled down the window. His
gaze was somber as he looked at her and then over her shoulder at
the Robertsons.
“Rachel would like to see you. Come, I will help you with the
baby’s things.”

Victoria could not have looked more lost as she peered at her
husband for help.
“It’ll be all right,” he soothed, unhooking the safety restraints
from the baby and lifting him out.
Levi opened the door, and Mr. Robertson climbed out then
held out his hand to assist his wife. They waited while Levi col-
lected the baby’s things, and then they walked slowly up the steps
and entered the house, the door closing gently behind them.
In the car, Cheryl blew out a shaky sigh. One thing was cer-
tain, she’d think twice before casting judgment...or withholding
forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, Lord,” she whispered, slanting her gaze toward the
graying sky. “I see now, even the darkest, loneliest heart deserves mercy
and grace. I wish I’d realized it sooner, but I promise, from this point
forward, I will try to live my life the way You would have me to live
it—by granting forgiveness even when it isn’t asked for, or earned.”
She spent a few quiet moments thinking of the great challenge
that lay ahead for Rachel and her parents, and then the front door
swung open again and Levi walked out. Propping his arms in the
open car window, he leaned in.
Cheryl started to squeeze his arm then stopped herself and
wiped the tears from her eyes instead. “How’d it go?”
“Not good, but at least they are still talking.” Levi shook his
head. “Who would have thought it would be them?”
Cheryl shuddered. “Not me. I hate what all this bigotry and
strife drove them to. And Rachel...how will she and Samuel ever
ﬁnd a way to overcome what has been done to them?”

Levi’s gaze fell, and with it, a heavy sigh. “What about you?
Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m...” She looked up at him, soaking in the sight of his
tanned face. Golden flecks shimmered in his deep blue eyes, add-
ing depth...warmth. Her lips quivered and then she shook her
head mutely. She wasn’t all right. She was sad. Tired.
Reaching for the handle, Levi helped her out.
“Can you tell me what happened in there?”
Levi glanced toward the house. “Samuel was angry of course.
Rachel wept. It was hard. I do not know what will happen now,
how they will work through this, or if they even can.”
Cheryl thought back over the past few days, what she’d learned
about herself and what she’d discovered about forgiveness. She
nodded firmly. “They can, if both parties are willing. It won’t
be easy, and healing may have to wait until after the courts decide
what to do with the Robertsons, but I believe they will find a way
with God’s help.”
Levi tipped his head, and his lips turned up in a grin. “You
sounded like my stepmother just then.”
“Thank you,” Cheryl replied, answering his grin with one of
her own. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He led her toward a path that ran alongside the house. “So it
paid off, ja? All of the sleuthing? You put the clues together until
you found the kidnapper and brought Baby John home.”
“All except for the one about Theresa Cox,” Cheryl said and
told Levi about her ties to the Amish. “Why do you suppose she
didn’t tell us about her cousin when she had the chance?”

He shrugged, his stride lengthening as they left the path to
veer toward an apple orchard. Pulling aside a branch, he let her
through and then fell in step beside her while they walked down
the rows. “Perhaps she was afraid it would make her look suspi-
cious? It would explain why she thought to use the toys. She would
have been familiar with Amish goods.”
“I suppose so.” Cheryl reached up to pluck a dry leaf from one
of the branches. The apples had been harvested, and all but a few
collected from the ground to be made into cider. It was a clear
indication that times had changed, seasons given way. Remark-
ably, it echoed exactly how she felt inside.
She rubbed the leaf until it crumbled to dust between her
ﬁngers. “And Jeremiah Zook? Did you learn anything about
him?”
Levi nodded. “He went to Middleﬁeld, as he said to his
cousin, to talk things over with his family and experience a
time of healing. After that he went to fetch his wife and bring
her home. Jeremiah thought that adopting a child would help
to ease the pain in Rebecca’s heart. They have begun the
process.”
That was it, the last of her suspicions laid to rest. She should
feel glad, and yet she couldn’t help worrying about Rachel and her
parents. Cheryl jerked her thumb toward the house. “What do
you suppose is going on back there?”
Levi shrugged then bent to pick up a stone. “Hard to say.
I hope they are managing to talk things through. Did the
Robertsons tell you why they took the baby?”

He threw the stone, and it scuttled over the grass before bounc-
ing off a tree trunk. Cheryl had felt like that stone for so long—
scuttling along, bouncing here and there, following no particular
path. No more.
She explained all that had transpired in New Philadelphia,
pausing when she got to the part about investigating the
garage.
“I’m not even sure what made us go inside,” she said, heat
flushing her cheeks despite the cool temperatures. “It was like we
both had a hunch and nothing was going to stop us.”
Levi threw his head back and laughed—a rich sound that
made her nerve ends tingle. “Now that I can believe. There are no
people more stubborn or determined than the two of you.”
His eyes twinkled when he spoke so that she couldn’t have
been irritated with him if she’d tried. She shrugged and then
joined him in laughter. “I guess you’re right about that.”
“I can’t help but feel a little sorry for them,” she said when at
last their chuckling quieted. She plucked another leaf and then
swung her arms and let it flutter to the ground. “Even though I
don’t agree with what they did, I can certainly understand how it
happened.”
“As can I,” Levi said softly. “Now will come the hard part. The
Swartzentrubers consented to wait to contact the police until after
they’d heard what Rachel’s parents had to say.”
“But will it be worth it?” Cheryl wondered out loud. “I mean,
if they can somehow reconcile, will it have been worth the heart-
ache it took to get there?”

“I think so.”
Cheryl wasn’t so certain, but she wanted to be.
“I think the best things in life are always the hardest to gain.
That doesn’t mean they aren’t worth trying for.”
“I agree,” Cheryl said, a trifle breathlessly.
His eyes darkened. In the setting sun, they looked like pieces
of the night sky. He moved a bit closer. “Do you, Cheryl? Even if
it means learning to accept another person’s beliefs, their way of
thinking, their...faith?”
He hesitated on the last word, and the uncertainty she heard
in his voice his voice reflected in his eyes.
“This isn’t just about the Swartzentrubers and Robertsons,
is it?”
He looked at her silently, and then shook his head.
Sorrow flooded Cheryl’s heart. “You don’t believe that some
relationships can work.”
His jaw clenched, and then he gave a curt nod. “I admit, there
was a time when I did not believe that two people with such
opposing views could overcome their differences. But now...
seeing those two families back there and what they are fighting to
achieve, I wonder.”
Cheryl felt her heart catch at his words. “I wondered the same
thing.”
His brow furrowed. “You knew of my misgivings?”
“Only because I had them too.”
His frown cleared, replaced by the beginning of a tender smile.
“And now?”

She lifted her chin. “Now I am willing to believe that
anything is possible, so long as hearts are open and God is
in it.”
His grin widened, and the hope that Cheryl felt sparkled
in Levi’s eyes. “Well said, Cheryl Cooper,” he whispered. “Well
said.”

Chapter Twenty-Four
Snow flurries greeted Cheryl the next morning.Temperatures
had fallen during the night, and all over Sugarcreek a light
dusting of powdery white coated everything from streetlamps and
flower boxes to rooftops and awnings.
Smiling, she stepped off of her porch, her feet crunching in
the snow as she turned for the Swiss Miss. At the corner, she
snuggled deeper into her coat and tugged the collar higher
around her ears. She liked snow and didn’t mind the cold, but
today the fluffy frosting blanketing the earth was even more spe-
cial because the Swartzentrubers would get to witness it together.
All of them.
She tipped her head back and blew out a happy sigh. It was
amazing how God always managed to straighten the most twisted
of circumstances. Last week she would never have believed that a
family could recover from the things Rachel and her parents had
suffered. Today it not only seemed possible, but probable.
Chief Twitchell had taken statements from all of the parties
involved and given special consideration to Rachel’s and Samuel’s
tear-filled requests that no charges be filed. Though their fate
remained uncertain, the chief seemed confident the Robertsons
would be spared prison, a thought that filled Cheryl with gladness.

As for her own parents, she’d spoken long into the wee hours
with both her mother and her father and been relieved to discover
that their love and support of her had only increased with her can-
did confession of her unforgiving spirit toward Lance. For the first
time in many months, she felt free—lighter somehow, like the flakes
fluttering all around her—and she realized that she’d borne a weight
that had hindered her in a way she hadn’t recognized until now.
Veering right, Cheryl made a beeline across the street toward
Yoder’s Corner. It had been a while since she’d sampled one of their
famous cinnamon rolls, and if ever she’d earned the right to
splurge, it was today.
Humming a tune, she pushed open the door and was welcomed
by a blast of sweet, cinnamon-scented air. Several patrons looked up
when she entered. A few bobbed their heads in greeting, and others
offered shy hellos. Cheryl returned them all then shrugged out of
her coat and claimed a table near the kitchen. She had just plucked
a menu from the centerpiece when the front door swung open and
Naomi bustled in on a wintry November breeze.
Cheryl put down the menu and waved. “Naomi, over here.”
Naomi nodded and wound her way toward her, stopping now
and then to say hello to people she knew. Finally, she reached the
table and scooted out a chair to sit. Unwrapping a wide, wool scarf
from around her neck, she draped it over the arm of her chair and
blew on her reddened fingers.
“I believe it is safe to say that winter has officially arrived.” She
shuddered and rubbed her hands over her arms. “Kaffee sounds
goot on such a cold morning, ja?”

“It sure does,” Cheryl said, pushing the menu toward her. “I’m
surprised to see you today.”
Naomi shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps we both had
the same idea?”
“Cinnamon rolls?”
Naomi laughed, and Cheryl soon joined in.
“So?” Cheryl asked. “How is Rachel this morning? Have you
heard?”
Naomi unbuttoned her cape and draped it over an empty chair
with her scarf. “Levi is supposed to let me know. He and Caleb
were going by there today to help Samuel catch up on the chores
he missed while he was out looking for John.”
“Good plan.” Cheryl nodded. “Maybe if I have time this
afternoon, I’ll drive over just to check on how everyone’s doing.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to take someone with me
this time.”
They both laughed, and then Naomi glanced toward the
kitchen. “Have you seen August or Greta?”
Cheryl shook her head and leaned back to peer around the
counter. “Not yet. I sure could use some coﬀee though.”
Around her, several other patrons grumbled the same thing.
An older man held up an empty cup.
“Anybody working today?”
Hmm...it wasn’t like the Yoders to neglect their customers,
but Cheryl refused to let anything dampen her mood. She propped
her elbows on the table and smiled.

“Actually, I’m really glad we both had the same idea this morn-
ing. I haven’t had a chance to talk with you about everything that
happened with the Swartzentrubers.”
Naomi gave a satisfied nod. “It truly was a miracle, ja?”
“Indeed it was,” Cheryl said.
At last the door to the kitchen creaked open and a flustered
August Yoder scurried out. In his hand was a pot of coffee, which
he quickly dispensed to waiting customers before turning to Cheryl
and Naomi.
“I’m sorry for your wait, ladies.” He held up the pot.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Cheryl and Naomi chimed together, and then
while he filled their cups, Naomi added, “And one of your largest,
gooiest cinnamon rolls.”
“Make that two,” Cheryl said. “No sharing today. I fully intend
to work off all of these extra calories with a long walk this
afternoon.”
August set down the pot with a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately,
I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“What?” Cheryl exclaimed, feigning exaggerated outrage. “No
cinnamon rolls? Don’t tell me you’ve sold out already. It’s only
seven thirty.”
August merely grunted. “I wish that were the case. No, we
didn’t sell out of rolls. Somebody took them. A whole platter that
Greta had cooling on the back table. It’s a sad day we’re living in
when a man can’t even cool his rolls.”

He ambled away, muttering to himself as he went and shaking
his shaggy head sorrowfully.
Cheryl swung her gaze to meet Naomi’s. “A platter of stolen
rolls? What in the world do you make of that?”
Smiling, Naomi reached for a packet of sugar and stirred it
lazily into her cup. “If you ask me, it sounds like a typical day in
Sugarcreek.”
Typical? Cheryl laughed. If there was one thing she’d learned
since coming to Sugarcreek, it was that there was no such thing as
a typical day, but that didn’t bother her the way it might have done
once.
She picked up her coffee cup and held it toward Naomi. “To
missing rolls?”
Naomi grinned and reached for her own cup. “To missing
rolls.”
And to nontypical days, Cheryl added silently, taking a sip of
her coffee and savoring the sweet, unspoiled taste of a regular cup
of joe.
It was a thought that filled her with unexpected joy.

Author Letter
Dear Reader,
What a blessing it has been to dwell with these characters in
Sugarcreek! Like so many people who enjoy Amish fiction, I have
been hungry for stories of hope and healing and am honored to
have partnered with such talented authors and editorial staff on
this project.
Cozy mysteries are unique in Christian fiction, something I
learned several years ago when I landed my first series contract!
Amish mysteries are even more special. Along with the challenge
of figuring out “whodunit,” readers are allowed a glimpse into the
day-to-day lives of the devout, humble people who inhabit this
quaint town. I tried earnestly to illustrate the hard-working spirit
and love, which is so typical among the Amish, but also among the
people of the Midwest—many of whom I am proud to call family.
I hope you will enjoy your time spent with these characters and
that your life will be richer for having done so.
Peace and blessings to you,
Elizabeth Ludwig

About the Author
Elizabeth Ludwig is the best-selling author of Christmas Comes
to Bethlehem, Maine, and the highly successful Edge of
Freedom series. Her popular literary blog the Borrowed Book
enjoys a wide readership. Elizabeth is an accomplished speaker and
teacher, often attending conferences and seminars where she
lectures on editing for ﬁction writers, crafting eﬀective novel
proposals, and conducting successful editor/agent interviews.
Along with her husband and children, she makes her home in the
great state of Texas. To learn more, visit ElizabethLudwig.com.

Fun Fact about
the Amish or Sugarcreek, Ohio
Ilearned a lot about the Amish right along with Cheryl Cooper,
the main character in the Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries series.
One of the things that interested me most was the practice of rum-
springa or the “running around” time of Amish youth. I quickly
learned that there are many commonly held misconceptions about
rumspringa, including the idea that it is a “time-out” from being
Amish. In actuality, rumspringa is intended to be a period during
which boys and girls are given greater personal freedom so that
they may make the decision to either become Amish or leave the
community. While it is true that some Amish youth may choose to
engage in what would otherwise be considered sinful behavior,
their parents do not encourage such.
Just as with all young adults, the late teen years are a confusing
time in an Amish person’s life. Rumspringa is intended to help
these young people “ﬁnd themselves” and thereby enable them to
make a fully informed decision to accept the lifelong requirements
of the Amish church.

Something Delicious from
Our Sugarcreek Friends
Homemade Pumpkin Butter
Pumpkin Puree
1 Pumpkin (yield is usually
about two or three cups of
puree per six-inch diameter
pumpkin)
Wash the exterior of the pumpkin in cool or warm water, no soap.
Cut the pumpkin in half. Scoop out the seeds and scrape the
insides. Be sure to get all of the stringy stuﬀ that coats the inside
surface. A heavy ice-cream scoop works great.
Remove the stem, and put the pumpkin halves into a micro-
waveable bowl. Put a couple of inches of water in the bowl, cover it,
and put in the microwave. Cook for ﬁfteen minutes on high. Check
to see if the pumpkin is soft and then repeat in smaller increments of
time until it is soft enough to separate the pumpkin meat from the
exterior “shell,” up to twenty or thirty minutes in total.
Pumpkin Butter
7 quarts pumpkin puree
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon allspice
4 cups sugar

Place ingredients in a Crock-Pot on low or medium heat. Stir
well. Cover loosely. (You don’t want to seal it tightly because you
want the steam to escape so it can reduce in volume and thicken.)
Cook for six to eight hours. For creamier texture, blend with a
hand-held drink mixer and pour into resealable jars. Store in
refrigerator.
For thinner pumpkin butter, add a little bit of apple juice and
blend. For thicker pumpkin butter, extend cooking time with the
lid oﬀ, so the steam can escape.
Enjoy!

Read on for a sneak peek of another exciting book
in the Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries series!
The Buggy before the Horse
by Tricia Goyer
Cheryl Cooper drove her dark blue Ford Focus down the quiet
country road, passing a horse and buggy. The holidays were
approaching, and she looked forward to experiencing them in this
quaint town of Sugarcreek. Her heart ached a bit as she realized
this was the first time in five years she wouldn’t be spending it with
Lance. For the longest time, she’d been angry that he’d walked
away from their engagement, but as that anger had subsided the
familiarity of their ordinary routines created a hole inside that she
hadn’t expected.
Still, with managing the Swiss Miss and her new friends, she
could look forward to a season filled with quietness and friendship.
It was a nice change from her harried and busy life in Columbus.
Maybe that’s something she’d been wanting for a while but just
didn’t know it until she got to Sugarcreek: peace.
She ran her fingers through her spiky red hair. Oh, bother.
November had brought misty, cold rain to Sugarcreek, providing
just enough moisture to cause her hair to frizz. She almost wished
she had an Amish prayer kapp to hide her out-of-control hair. That

would be useful on days like this. Perhaps by the time Thanksgiving
rolled around in a few weeks they’d have snow.
She drove past the Millers’ petting zoo and maze and along the
beautiful, teal-colored creek toward the Millers’ farm. She crossed
a charming covered bridge that stretched over the babbling water.
A kissing bridge. That’s what the locals called it. When slow-
moving buggies traveled through it, courting couples sitting inside
slipped from view, giving them a perfect opportunity to snatch
a kiss.
Heat rose to Cheryl’s cheeks as she considered whom she’d
share a kiss with. Levi Miller. She’d told herself time and again that
being enamored with an Amish bachelor wasn’t acceptable. She
patted her cheek, willing those thoughts to leave or she’d make a
fool of herself at the Millers’ farm.
When she reached the other side of the bridge, there sat the
familiar huge, white farmhouse with a wrap-around porch. There
were no buggies in the yard today, and it appeared the horses
remained in the barn. She glanced around and didn’t
see Levi, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nearby. Cheryl patted her
hair again.
“Maybe I should ask Naomi to borrow a kapp,” she mum-
bled with a sigh as she parked on the Millers’ dirt and gravel
driveway. Before exiting her car, Cheryl grabbed the handles of
the paper sack on the passenger seat, feeling its weight. Since
hearing that Naomi was under the weather, she’d promised her
friend two things. First, that she’d come pick up the newest

batch of homemade candles and preserves Naomi made for the
store. Second, that she’d bring some chicken noodle soup. It was
Cheryl’s mother’s recipe and something she always enjoyed
when she was sick. The bag held a large Tupperware container of
the soup, still warm.
The Millers’ dog must have heard the car because a friendly
bark greeted her. She stepped out of the car, shut the door, and
then glanced to the field past the barn. The pup’s head bobbed as
he ran through the stubble of hayfields.
Cheryl’s black Mary Janes crunched on the gravel, and the
misty rain brushed her cheeks. She stopped on the path to give
the pup time to catch up and soak in the sight of...peacefulness.
She needed this. Needed to remember that even though she’d left
behind a lot in Columbus, God had brought her to the perfect
place where her soul—her heart—could heal.
The wide, gray sky stretched over the fields. This spot would
provide a perfect star-gazing view on a cold winter’s night. In addi-
tion to passing down the delicious soup recipe, her mother had
taught her to spot Orion, Jupiter, and other winter stars in the
eastern sky. She pictured herself sitting on the front porch next to
Levi–Naomi’s oldest stepson, and watching for shooting stars. He
always brought a smile to her face.
Cheryl sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the moment, and
then she decided to take a quick picture with her phone. She aimed
the camera at the silos that stuck up in the horizon between the
cornfields and stretches of woods beyond the farm.

Sometimes she wanted to pinch herself for the blessing of
living in Sugarcreek. It was so different from Columbus. Her life
was so different. It was like being inside a stuffy building all day
and then stepping outside to clean, fresh air. She hadn’t realized
how stuffy her life had been for years until now. Until the fresh air
had soaked into every part of her.
The dog finally reached her, bouncing with excitement. He
didn’t look quite a year old and had lots of energy. Forgetting his
manners, his front paws tapped her tan slacks, leaving a smudge
of dirt.
“Rover, down!” A man’s voice split the air, and Cheryl jumped.
Levi strode from the barn. A large bag of mulch was slung over his
shoulder, yet he walked with ease as if he carried a feather pillow.
His blond hair stuck out from under his brimmed hat.
Levi scowled at the dog. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Sorry
to startle you. My little brother is supposed to be training this guy,
and the pup has no manners.”
She brushed the dirt from her slacks. “No problem. My work
apron will cover it. He’s just a puppy after all.”
Levi approached and paused then he sniffed the air and
smiled. “Something smells goot. Got something tasty in the bag?”
He looked down with those dark blue eyes, the color of the night
sky, and her stomach did a small flip.
“Soup for your maam.” She smiled back. “Esther said she has
a nasty cold. I do hope your mom is staying off her feet.”
Levi shook his head. “You know my stepmother. I’d need to
tie her down to get her to stay off her feet.” He looked toward the

house. “But Maam did say you were coming. I’m thankful she
didn’t go into town today. I’ll put this mulch by the flower beds
and then get your things. Maam asked me to pull out a few
dozen jars of preserves and set some cheese aside for you in the
root cellar. I’ll also grab the candles and other items for your
store.”
It wasn’t her store—she was just running it for Mitzi while her
aunt was in Papua New Guinea—but she didn’t want to argue.
Cheryl also thought about reminding Levi that the distance wasn’t
that far, and even quicker when one was driving in a car, but she
changed her mind. Instead, she ran her fingers through her spiked
hair and smiled up at him. “That’s kind, Levi, thank you.”
Levi moved toward the flower beds with Rover following,
and Cheryl continued to the front door. Her heartbeat had
quickened more than normal, and she told herself to take a deep
breath. She reminded herself that he was Amish, and she was
English and she needed to think long and hard before allowing
their relationship to move beyond friendship.
Cheryl knocked twice and then opened the door and walked
in. The Amish way was not to knock at all, but she still couldn’t get
used to that.
The large living room was warm and cozy. Heat radiated from
the wood-burning stove. The oak floors gleamed, leading the
way to the kitchen.
A loud sniffle came from the kitchen. Cheryl walked tenta-
tively toward the open space. Naomi sat at the long dining room
table with her Bible open before her. She wore a dark blue dress

covered with an apron, her graying hair perfectly tucked in her
prayer kapp.
“Why are you just standing there?” Naomi scooted back her
chair and rose. “Cheryl, come in. Come in!”
Cheryl hustled in, waving her free hand in Naomi’s direction.
“Don’t you dare get up. I brought you some soup like I promised.”
She placed the paper bag on the table near Naomi.
The kitchen smelled of wood, kerosene oil, and baking bread.
Sure enough three loaves of wheat bread cooled on the counter.
Leave it to Naomi to have time to bake this morning, even when
she wasn’t feeling well.
Naomi settled back down into the chair. “Wunderbar. A bowl
of soup is just what I need. It’s so good to see you. A bit of
sunshine. Do you have time to stay for a cup of tea? Water’s hot.”
She pointed to the teakettle on the stove.
“I’d love a cup. Since the store doesn’t open for an hour, I have
time.” Cheryl removed her jacket and placed it over the back of the
dining room chair at the head of the table. “I just hope Ben and
Rueben aren’t too disappointed that the front door won’t be
unlocked early today.”
Cheryl smiled thinking of the two brothers who loved to show
up in the morning and play checkers at the table set up in her
store. Their relationship had been strained over the years since Ben
left the Amish, but Cheryl was glad to see that time was beginning
to heal old wounds.
“Oh, I’m sure the brothers will survive.” Naomi closed her
Bible, but not before Cheryl saw the title Prayer List on a sheet of

paper tucked inside and the first few names. Sarah, Naomi’s
stepdaughter, was at the top of the list. Cheryl knew how hard
it was for Amish parents to see their children leading an English
lifestyle. Would reconciliation also come to the Miller family, just
as it had started with Ben and Rueben?
The second name on the list was Mitzi. Thankfully, many peo-
ple were praying for Cheryl’s aunt. Some thought she was far too
old to run off on a missionary adventure in Papua New Guinea, of
all places. Cheryl prayed too. And worried. She hadn’t heard from
her aunt in a few weeks. Did no news really mean good news?
Cheryl also wondered if her name had made that list. Did
Naomi pray for her? Warmth filled her chest at the idea.
She moved to the open cupboard and removed a plain, brown
mug. A small basket of tea bags sat on the counter. She took a tea
bag, placed it in the mug, and then used a potholder to grab the
teakettle off the stovetop. She tipped the kettle, preparing to pour,
when the front door banged open. The loud noise caused Cheryl
to jump. She gasped, and her hand holding the teakettle jerked.
Hot water splashed on the counter.
“Oh no!” She returned the kettle to the stove.
Naomi rose. Levi rushed in, and Naomi’s gazed moved from
Cheryl to Levi and back to Cheryl. “You didn’t burn yourself,
did you?”
“No, nothing like that.” Cheryl wiped up the spilled water
with a flour sack dish towel. “I’m fine, but...” Her eyes widened as
she looked to Levi. His left hand held his right one, and blood
dripped from his fingers. “Are you all right?”

She grabbed the damp dish towel and hurried to him. He took
two steps toward her and held out his hand. “I should have known
better,” he mumbled. “But the root cellar...”
“Here, let’s get that to the water tap,” Cheryl interrupted. She
dabbed at the dripping blood with the towel. He followed her to
the kitchen sink. He held his hand under the water, and she saw a
pretty deep gash on his palm. He wore a puzzled expression.
Naomi hurried over to view the damage. “Levi, what happened?
How did you hurt your hand?”
He turned oﬀ the water and turned to his stepmother. “It’s bad,
Maam.” At her stricken look, he shook his head. “Not my hand, but
it seems someone’s gotten into the root cellar. They swiped some of
the homemade candles we’d set aside for Cheryl. And a few jars of
peach preserves are gone too, along with some apples.”
“Someone? Who?” Naomi placed her hand over her mouth.
Then she lowered her hand again, eyes wide. “Someone was in our
cellar? A thief?”
Levi nodded and then pulled his hand from Cheryl’s grasp.
“I’m afraid so.” He cleared his throat. “They dropped a jar of
peaches, and I was foolish enough to pick up the broken glass.”
Cheryl looked from son to stepmother. Concern creased the
older woman’s forehead. Was it because of worry about Levi’s hand
or worry about the thief? She wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
Cheryl’s gaze turned to Levi’s hand. It had started bleeding
again. Naomi spotted it too. She reached into the drawer and
pulled out a clean towel. Instead of turning to Levi she glanced
over at Cheryl. “Press this into his hand while I get bandages.”

Cheryl nodded, ﬁnding humor in her friend’s response. It
seemed Naomi was bent on mothering her oldest stepson, despite
the fact he was a full foot taller than her. Still, Cheryl did as she was
told. She pressed the clean towel onto Levi’s cut palm as Naomi
hurried from the room.
Levi shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Um, I can
hold that if you’d like.”
“And face your mother’s wrath? I know better than to disobey.”
She chuckled and then dared to look up into his face. Levi
squinted in worry. She guessed what he was thinking: Who would
break into their cellar and steal from them? And why?
Naomi hurried back to the kitchen, and Cheryl let her take
over the doctoring. The cut looked deep, and Naomi expertly
applied antibiotic cream and bandages.
“Will you need stitches?” Cheryl asked Levi.
“Nah, it’s just a paper cut.” Levi forced a smile and winked.
“Or, if I have to, I’ve been known to sew...”
The front door swung open, slamming against the woodbox.
Cheryl jumped, and their attention turned to the door. Naomi’s
husband Seth strode in, moving with quickened steps through the
living room into the kitchen.
Seth was usually a quiet and serious man, but now he
seemed frazzled. He walked toward them, and his face held a
puzzled expression.
“Something wrong, Seth?” Naomi asked.
“Wrong? Ja, I would say something is wrong.” He shook his
head. “It seems to me someone’s sleeping in our winter buggy.”

Naomi gasped. “Sleeping in the buggy?”
Levi rubbed his brow. “It must be the same person who got
into the root cellar.”
Naomi took a step toward her husband. “I hope they did not
get too cold last night.”
“Too cold?” Cheryl muttered the words under her breath.
“I’d be worried more about your safety.” She knew she shouldn’t
interfere. It wasn’t really her place. Then again, she was from
Columbus. She’d seen her share of crime. She read the papers.
A shudder traveled down her spine. “What if they tried to
come into your house? Do you even lock the front door at
night?”
Their silence told her they didn’t.
“We live in Sugarcreek, Cheryl.” Naomi placed a hand on
Cheryl’s arm. “I know this may be hard for you to understand,
coming from a big city and such, but if there is someone sleeping
in our buggy and poking around in our cellar, then our concern
isn’t so much about the taken items. But rather our biggest con-
cern will be to help...to oﬀer what we can.”
Seth stroked his long beard, and then he clucked his tongue.
“I’m not sure that’s the wisest thing to do this time, Naomi.” His
tone was serious. “Whoever is sleeping in our buggy has some
farfetched ideas about our town.”
“What do you mean? How do you know?” Naomi’s gaze
searched her husband’s face. He opened one of his balled ﬁsts and
revealed a piece of paper folded inside. It appeared to be a piece of
crumpled up notebook paper that someone had smoothed and

then refolded. Seth unfolded it and then held it out so everyone
could read the words.
There was a time when communities cared for their
own, but with great loss came diminished hope. And no
town could live without hope. Sugarcreek was slowly
dying but nobody knew it, especially not the two men
who sat on Main Street playing checkers.

Meet the Real People of
Sugarcreek
Sprinkled amid our created characters in Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries,
we’ve fictionally depicted some of the town’s real-life people
and businesses. Here’s a glimpse into the actual story
of the owner of the Honey Bee Café.
My mom, my sister Patty, the rest of my family...Why
wasn’t anyone listening to me? Why wasn’t God listening
to me? They all knew what I wanted. I’d told them. For two years,
ever since my husband, Gerry, died of injuries from a car accident,
I’d been running our remodeling business in the Columbus, Ohio,
suburbs on my own. Successfully, but it took up so much of my
time—time I would rather be spending with our two young sons.
I’d always dreamed of having my own café, a place where I would
serve healthy lunches and great coffee, befriending the customers.
I could set my own hours and have plenty of time with the boys.
The more I thought about it, the more I was sure we needed a fresh
start. Someplace different. Someplace far away, where there wouldn’t
be constant reminders of Gerry and how much we missed him. I sold
the remodeling business. My plan was to move to a big city with a
thriving coffee culture that would provide a customer base for my café.

So why were Mom and Patty trying to get me to stay in Ohio?
“I know you want to move,” Patty said. “How about closer to all
of us? You need family around you.” She kept tossing me sugges-
tions, places she’d heard were up for sale.
Her latest? Some building in the heart of Ohio Amish country,
in the town of Sugarcreek, near where we grew up. “It’s right on
Main Street. Used to be a hardware store, so it’s roomy,” she said.
“Perfect for your café. Come take a look!”
I agreed mainly to get her off my back. One spring day in
2012, I drove the two hours to Sugarcreek and parked at 993 West
Main Street. A three-story structure with a sagging front porch.
What a wreck! I thought. I would’ve turned around and driven off
if Patty and the real-estate agent hadn’t been waiting with such
hopeful expressions on their faces.
The place did not look much better on the inside. “This build-
ing is one hundred and fifty years old,” the agent told me.
And definitely showing its age. What the place needed—new
roof, new floors, new everything—went beyond an extreme
makeover. “Thank you, but this isn’t going to work for me,” I told
the agent. But the whole two hours back to Columbus, I couldn’t
stop thinking about that old building. Visualizing it coming to
life. Neighbors having coffee on the porch. Tourists stopping by
for my bacon-apple-and-cheddar grilled cheese. The boys and me
living on the top floor, their after-school snacks coming from my
café menu.
Thank You for Your patience, God, I prayed. I get it now. I’m the
one who wasn’t listening.

I called the real-estate agent and put in an offer. It was
accepted. Construction started in February 2013. I hired a
four-man Amish crew that Gerry and I had worked with. We
tried to preserve the character of the building, reusing old cabinets,
windows, and doors. Soon I was on a first-name basis with Marlin
at the lumberyard. Folks came right over to say hello. Amish
families stopped by to wish us well. A Mennonite woman brought
us homemade soup. It felt healing to be in a small town where
everyone knew and cared about their neighbors. And to be closer
to my family. My sister was right. The best customer base I could
ever hope for was right here.
My siblings and I came up with the name Honey Bee Café—
in honor of our dad, who kept bees as a hobby. I put together the
menu, including honey muffins, honey oatmeal cookies, and the
Honeycomb, a custom coffee concoction sweetened with vanilla
syrup and honey. Now to find a honey supplier. One afternoon a
man I recognized from Winfield United Methodist Church,
Mr. Andrews, drove up in his truck. “I run an apiary,” he said. “I
hear you need honey.”
I wanted everything else to be locally grown and made too, to
support the community that had welcomed my boys and me.
Produce and cheese from Amish farms. Fresh bread from the
Dutch Valley Bakery.
The Honey Bee Café opened last July. It’s more than a coffee
and sandwich shop. It’s a gathering place for folks to listen to
music (we have a piano for anyone to play) or meet up after choir
practice. And of course, it’s our home.

When I told Mom that the boys and I were moving to 993
West Main Street in Sugarcreek, she said, “That’s the old hardware
store, right? You know who used to live on the top ﬂoor?”
I had no idea.
“Your great-grandma Ida. I used to visit her there.”
No wonder I felt so at home.
Recently I got a call from the editor of Sugarcreek Amish
Mysteries, a series of novels featuring two women, an Englisher
and her Amish friend, who work together to solve mysteries set
here in town. The editor wanted to include the café and me in the
books. I couldn’t be more thrilled. There’s a scene where one of the
sleuths comes to the Honey Bee for her favorite bacon-apple-and-
cheddar grilled cheese. Now, that’s a woman after my own heart.

A Note from the Editors
We hope you enjoy Sugarcreek Amish Mysteries, created by
theBooksandInspirationalMediaDivisionofGuideposts,
a nonproﬁt organization that touches millions of lives every day
through products and services that inspire, encourage, help you
grow in your faith, and celebrate God’s love in every aspect of your
daily life.
Thank you for making a diﬀerence with your purchase of this
book, which helps fund our many outreach programs to military
personnel, prisons, hospitals, nursing homes, and educational
institutions. To learn more, visit GuidepostsFoundation.org.
We also maintain many useful and uplifting online resources.
Visit Guideposts.org to read true stories of hope and inspiration,
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To learn about other Guideposts publications, including the
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To learn more about these books, visit ShopGuideposts.org
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