understand the importance of not revealing their old identities.”
Kayla wouldn’t be a problem, but William was going through a defiant stage where he rebelled against everything.
As if reading her mind, Mast added, “William needs to know that his safety as well as yours and your daughter’s depends on him agreeing to this new life.”
Julia nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”
But would he listen?
Pushing his chair back from the table, Jonathan glanced at his fellow marshals. “We’ll leave at nine tonight.”
“Why so late?” Julia asked.
“At the present time, the Philadores don’t know your whereabouts. We don’t want that to change.” He stood. “Stacy and Karl will drive you to the airport. I’ll meet you there.”
True to his word, Marshal Mast was waiting on the tarmac when Karl pulled the sedan to a stop next to the small charter plane that night.
Julia and her children were ushered onboard. Kayla fell asleep not long after the plane was airborne. William nodded off soon thereafter. Julia stared out the window, peering into the dark sky. Her head throbbed, her eyes burned and she was cold, too cold.
Stacy handed her blankets. “You’ve been very brave.”
Julia covered her children and herself with the blankets and almost laughed. Not brave, but maybe foolish to think she could outsmart the Philadores. Her eyes closed. The jerk of the plane when the wheels touched down forced them open again.
“We’ve landed.” Stacy patted Julia’s arm. “A van will take us to your final destination.”
Julia ushered her children off the plane and into the vehicle parked on the tarmac.
Karl slipped behind the wheel. Jonathan sat in the passenger’s seat, and Stacy climbed into the rear.
Kayla fell asleep again, her head on Julia’s lap. William leaned against her shoulder. Soon, he too drifted off.
Julia watched the lights of the city fade from view as they headed into the country. She quickly lost track of the twists and turns in the road and slipped into a half sleep.
A hand tapped her shoulder. “We’re almost to our destination.”
The car turned off the paved road onto a dirt drive that led to a two-story house with a porch and overhanging tin roof. A small light glowed in a downstairs window.
A second house, similar in style but a bit larger, sat not more than twenty feet away.
Stacy slipped out from the rear. “I’ll carry Kayla.” She lifted the girl into her arms.
“William, wake up.” Julia patted her son’s arm. “We’re going inside.”
He rubbed his eyes and followed her out of the van. Julia took Kayla from the marshal and then grabbed William’s hand, surprised that he didn’t balk. Most days, he objected to any show of affection.
Julia’s stomach churned. She hugged Kayla closer and gripped her son’s hand more tightly as they followed Stacy up the steps to the porch.
The door opened. A man stood backlit on the threshold. “You made good time,” he said in greeting.
“No traffic this late at night.” Marshal Mast extended his hand. The two men shook, then embraced in a back-slapping half-hug of sorts that confirmed the friendship Jonathan had mentioned.
The homeowner shook hands with the two other marshals and invited them inside. “There’s coffee. I placed ham and cheese and bread on the table, in case you’re hungry.”
He glanced at her and nodded. “Ma’am.”
Stepping inside, she narrowed her gaze and studied the sparse accommodations. A table, sideboard, a wood-burning stove. Glancing into another room, she saw two rockers, a bench, a chest of drawers and another table.
She focused again on the man who had welcomed them to his house. He wore a white shirt and trousers held up with suspenders. No collar on the shirt. No buttons. No belt. Work boots scuffed with mud. Turning she saw the pegs on the wall by the door and the black, wide-brimmed felt hat and the short black waistcoat.
She glanced at the marshals who were pouring coffee and helping themselves to the bread and cold cuts on the table. The only person who noticed her discomfort was the man whose photo she had seen earlier today. His deep-set eyes stared at her as if questioning why she was there.
Julia wanted to ask the same question. Jonathan had mentioned that Abraham was living Amish, but the stark reality of what that meant hit her like a sledgehammer. No phone, no electrical power, no technology. Off the grid, as Jonathan had mentioned, was an understatement. Plus, the Amish were pacifists. If they didn’t believe in violence or raising a hand against another, then what if the Philadores discovered where she and her children were hiding?
Her heart sank as she looked at the tall man with the questioning gaze. A former cop who didn’t fit the law enforcement model. No matter what Jonathan claimed, she didn’t see how Abraham King could protect her and her children if he was Amish.
* * *
Abraham had made a mistake. As much as he owed Jonathan, he never should have agreed to bring a woman into his life.
Losing everyone he had ever loved had taken him to the brink of despair. Jonathan had saved him and brought him back to life, a life of hard work and isolation. A life without a woman to stir up memories of Marianne and their precious little girl, Becca. His breath caught as he thought of the pain that never seemed to end.
Surely Jonathan would understand if Abraham backed out of their agreement. Then he glanced at Julia. Too thin, too afraid, too lost. He knew the signs of a person holding on by a whisper. He had been that person three years ago.
The boy standing next to her was tall and gangly, as if a growth spurt had caught him unawares. His brown eyes, like his mother’s, peered warily at the three marshals gathered around the table. The kid looked tired and confused and ready to bolt if given the chance.
“His dad’s doing time,” Jonathan had shared. “Wouldn’t take much for the kid to follow in his father’s footsteps from what we know. You’re the family’s last hope, Abraham.”
Abraham sighed. How could he turn his back on a woman and two children in such need?
“The bedrooms are upstairs.” Abraham stepped toward her. “I can show you the way. Perhaps the children would like to go to sleep.”
“I’m sure they would.” Clutching her daughter in her arms, she nodded to her son, and the weary threesome followed Abraham up the stairs.
Carrying an oil lamp to light the way, he chastised himself for not placing a lit lamp in each of the bedrooms. Darkness could be frightening, especially to children in new surroundings.
He opened the first door on the right. “I thought your daughter could sleep here.”
The woman hesitated a moment and stared at the furnishings. A single bed, small dresser, and a side table with a water pitcher and basin.
She moved into the room, pulled back the covers and laid her little girl on the bed. Quickly, she removed Kayla’s shoes and covered her with a quilt.
Abraham glanced down at the child’s blond hair and chubby cheeks. A knife stabbed his heart as Becca’s face filled his vision. He turned away and headed to the door.
“William, your mother will sleep across the hall. The room next door is for you.” Thankfully, the boy followed.
“I will leave the lamp in the hallway.”
“You...you don’t have electricity?” the boy asked, his voice filled with wonder.
“We use oil lamps.”
The