“It’s time,” Alma said, seeming unaffected by what she intended to do.
“Ne.” Rachel shook her head. “For the love of God, Alma, please. Don’t—”
“Don’t speak to me of God,” Alma interrupted. “I’m lost to Him.”
“You’re wrong,” Rachel protested. “God never abandons us. He’s here for us when we are at our weakest—when we need Him most.”
Lemuel was weeping again, but he dragged the object closer. A large old-fashioned sled built of wood slats on metal runners. “She’s trying to get loose, Mam,” he managed between hiccups. He’d been crying. His eyes were bright, his nose running. “But I tied it good, like you showed me.”
“Won’t matter.” Alma leaned down and jerked on the binding around Rachel’s wrists.
Rachel winced.
“God’s with you. You keep thinking that, Rachel,” the woman said as she helped the boy drag Rachel’s body onto the oversized sled. “I hope it gives you comfort.”
Lemuel straightened and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his homemade denim coat. “I don’t like this, Mam. It’s not right. I’ll go to the Englisher police. I’ll tell them I did it. I’ll tell them that I killed Daniel, and Moses will come home. He’ll take care of Mary Rose and the baby.”
“Hush, sohn. This is the only way,” his mother crooned. She slowly lifted Rachel’s legs, groaning in pain from the exertion. “That old well was a good place for your dat’s gun, and it will do just as well for her body. We should have thrown Daniel down there, and then we’d have none of this trouble.”
“Lemuel, please,” Rachel begged, trying to look up at the boy. “Don’t do this. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. It’s not too late to stop—”
“No more!” Alma leaned over, and her fingers tightened on Rachel’s forearm. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll take that shovel and finish you off with it now. You should be making your peace with your Maker instead of worrying my boy.” She stood upright, breathing heavily. “You’ll see, Lemuel,” she soothed. “This will be best for all of us. It will soon be over and done and you’ll all be safe. Now let’s get on with it. The sooner done, the better. And then we’ll go inside and have a nice supper.”
A sob escaped Lemuel’s lips, but he nodded obediently and grabbed the rope he’d used to bring the sled into the barn. The two of them tugged on the rope together and slowly dragged the sled out into the snowy farmyard.
Time had passed. Rachel could tell by the shift in the sun.
Panic seized her. “Help!” Rachel screamed as loud as she could. She rolled one way and then the other, trying to get off the sled. “Help me! Someone! Help!”
Alma dropped the rope and raised the rifle butt over Rachel’s head. “I told you to keep quiet,” she warned, her voice surprisingly free of rancor. The woman was resolved. She was going to do this. She really was going to kill Rachel.
Rachel stopped moving and clamped her eyes shut, half expecting to feel the wooden stock of the rifle crash into the back of her head. The sled jerked and then slid bumpily over the surface of the snow. She cautiously opened her eyes again as the sled passed the corner of the barn.
The snow had stopped and the temperature had dropped. The sun had come out from the clouds and the late-afternoon light glittered off the snow. It must be after three, Rachel thought. The minister and all the guests would have left the church. Her wedding had come and gone, and she hadn’t been there to see it.
She groaned as Alma and Lemuel pulled her through the snow, hitting bumps that sent pain knifing through Rachel’s head.
The rifle worried her. Did Alma plan to shoot her before throwing her down the well? It might be better than dying of exposure or drowning in a dark hole, but if they only dropped her in the well, she might have a chance. Evan would come looking for her. Surely he would. Wouldn’t he? Or would he believe she’d decided not to marry him and just taken a coward’s way out and not told him?
She didn’t want to believe that, but why else hadn’t he come for her? Hopefully Mary Aaron would know something was wrong. She must have realized she was missing when she went upstairs to help Rachel into her wedding gown. She’d figure out where Rachel had gone and come to the Studer farm.
If Rachel could just convince Alma to leave her alive, she might be able to survive until help came.
There was the sudden sound of splintering wood, the sled shifted, and Rachel slid hard into the cold snow. Her head struck the ground and she gave an involuntary cry of pain. White lights flashed in her head. She heard herself groan, as if she were a distance from her body, and feared she might pass out.
“It broke,” Lemuel exclaimed, sounding as if he were about to burst into tears. “Look, that runner’s bent under.”
Rachel lay in the snow, her back to them, unable to move. Afraid to move and bring attention to herself.
“What are we going to do?” Lemuel fretted. “Carry her the rest of the way? She’s too big for me to carry.”
“She can walk,” Alma said. “Untie her ankles.”
Lemuel hurried to obey.
“Lemuel, please,” Rachel whispered, peering up at him as he yanked on the twine.
“Leave him alone,” Alma snapped at Rachel. “Get up on your feet. You can walk. It’s not far.”
Rachel rolled on her stomach and made it to her knees before a wave of nausea washed over her. She hung her head. “I . . . I don’t know if I can.”
It took both
