A mute, foundling girl hides from her pursuers with the help of a reluctant recluse. The two of them have nothing in common except deep emotional scars. Who is she? How did she end up unconscious and scantily clothed on Evan's isolated property? Why...
I was holding Sophie too close for my comfort while trying to get through to her. I let go of her wrists and retreated to the sofa.
She followed right behind and plopped down beside me. She wrote: I am writing what happened to me in my journal. I'll show you when I'm done writing. It may take me a while to get it all out. In the meantime, I want to stay with you.
Finally, some progress. "I'm so glad you're writing it all down."
She wrote: You promised not to look until I say it's okay.
"That's right. I promise. You don't have to worry about your privacy. I won't betray your trust."
She sighed and wrote: You won't like what you read. You have to promise me you won't do anything stupid.
"I don't know if that's a promise I can make. Someone hurt you and has you living in terror. I cannot let that stand."
She considered my words and went quiet. Her anger had dissipated as quickly as it had risen.
"Can you at least give me a hint, a preview?"
She cocked her head.
"Tell me one little thing about you. Something I don't already know. Something harmless that won't reveal any of your dark secrets." Except her dark secrets were exactly what I wanted. Any scrap of information might provide insight.
She looked at me dubiously and wrote: My favorite color is pink.
"That doesn't count because I already knew that. It's obvious from the color selection of your sneakers and your unicorn sleep shirt. Try again."
Looking puzzled, she wrote: What do you want to know?
"You already told me you grew up on a dairy farm in Minnesota. How about if you tell me what part of Minnesota you're from? I assume a rural area, so not Minneapolis."
She took her time before answering as if processing if there was any danger in letting me know. She wrote: The closest town to where I grew up was Mankato.
"Mankato, Minnesota."
She nodded.
Acting as if it was no big deal, I yawned. "The nights are short, and I have to get up early. I should soon sack out."
I'm tired too. I'll get ready for bed.
After tucking in the princess, I returned to the sofa and turned off the TV, the lights, and waited a half hour hoping Sophie had fallen asleep and wouldn't detect the glow from the iPad. Into the search engine, I typed: Sophia Marie Bieler and Mankato Minnesota.
Nothing but a bunch of irrelevant links populated the screen. I clicked on several articles that appeared promising, but nothing even remotely pointed to information about the girl who had laid claim to my bedroom.
One thing did catch my eye. The family name Bieler was common among the Amish; nearly all the news having to do with that surname involved someone from the religious group.
...And Sophie was religious.
I glanced at the bedroom door. Was it possible Sophie was Amish? The more I considered the possibility, the more things made sense. It explained her religious faith, her work ethic, and her habit of getting up before sunrise to start chores. It also explained her proficiency in all things domestic like cooking and cleaning.
Many Amish families lived in my area. I considered them as honest and hard working. They were good neighbors and kept to themselves. They were a tight knit, closed community opposed to outside influences. Most of them shunned modern conveniences such as electricity and still got around in horse-drawn buggies. Amish children in my area attended school only up to the eighth grade and diligently worked their family farms.
If my suspicion was true, it explained why Sophie wasn't concerned about missing school.
No wonder Sophie wasn't put off by my meager cabin. She would be used to a modest lifestyle and probably considered her access to my electricity as a luxury. I remembered how dazzled she had been over shopping at a modern department store.
On the flip side, she knew how to operate a cellphone and an electric hair dryer which seemed paradoxical to how she was raised. Then again, young people seemed to have an intuitive understanding of such things and learned fast.
Her being Amish didn't explain why I had found Sophie on my property unconscious and dressed as a bride. There was a lot more to her story. Being Amish wasn't her only secret. If she indeed was Amish.
I needed to keep my suspicion to myself for now and allow Sophie to finish her journal. Then, the two of us could move forward. But if someone was looking for her and trying to hurt her, I wouldn't allow the situation to drag on forever.
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