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...
My first reaction after reading Sophie's journal was anger, directed at her instead of to what had happened to her. Why hadn't she confided in me right away? All of this could've been prevented. I would've acted sooner. My anger at her faded after considering how she was just a young Amish kid, sheltered for most of her childhood and likely frightened how nothing would be done to her predators. Amish were raised to be pacifists, not fighting back, leaving their fate in God's hands.
Then again, I remember her cautioning me to not do anything stupid after finding out the truth. Maybe she held back fearing for my safety. Maybe it was a misguided attempt at protecting me. No matter what, I would not let this stand. I would put an end to Sophie's terror and get her back. I didn't even want to think about what might be happening to her at that moment.
From the closet I grabbed my shotgun, loaded it, and filled my coat pocket with extra shells. Jumping into my truck, I headed out. After turning my truck onto the county road, I reviewed in my mind the few things I learned from Sophie's journal.
The man who bought her was called Titus Weiss. He was supposedly Amish and lived on a farm with a squeaky windmill and had two sons. Sophie hadn't written their names. The two sons had two wives, Agnes and Miriam. I knew the farm had to be nearby because Sophie's buggy ride hadn't been long. Knowing where I first found Sophie, the farm had to be near the old logging road close to where it intersected with the county road.
It was all good information I could work with, but not good enough for me to quickly find her. I needed help.
Where to start? Amish farms were easy to recognize by their well-maintained properties and lack of overhead power lines. A few miles further into backcountry, I veered onto a dirt two-track lane about a quarter mile long leading to a red and white barn. Behind the barn sat a charming two-story farmhouse with a covered wrap-around porch.
I skidded to a stop beside the porch and jumped out. I knocked on the front door, maybe a bit too aggressively, and reminded myself to control my emotions and to breathe.
The Amish woman who answered the door wore a white bonnet and blue dress. A small boy clung to her leg. Both eyed me with suspicion.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Evan Snyder. I live a few miles from here. I'm looking for a farm belonging to Titus Weiss. He's Amish like you. Can you point me in the right direction?"
As soon as I mentioned the name Titus Weiss, she flinched.
"I can't help you, Mister Snyder," she said and stepped back, starting to close the door.
"Wait! Look, there's a teenage girl who is in danger. She's Amish too. I believe she is being held against her will at the Weiss farm."
The woman hesitated and glanced toward the barn. "Perhaps you should speak with my husband. He's tending to the horses."
The door slammed shut. I heard the audible click of the deadbolt being engaged.
I didn't have to walk to the barn to hunt for her husband. A bearded man wearing a traditional Amish straw hat marched my way from that direction carrying a garden hoe. The Amish were non-violent, but I wasn't taking chances. I held my hands out at my side and tried to appear non-threatening. As he approached, I introduced myself and told him why I had come.
He stopped a few feet away and leaned on the hoe, gaze cast to the ground. "I cannot help you."
"Can't or won't?" I asked.
He raised his eyes and met my gaze. He repeated, "I cannot help you."
What was with these people? "There's a sixteen-year-old girl of your faith in real danger of being abused. I'm not asking you to do anything except tell me how to get to the Weiss farm."
Again, he lowered his gaze. "If she is indeed Amish, then she already knows whatever happens is God's will. Her life is in God's hands."
If I thought I'd be able to beat the information out of him, I'd do it and have no regrets, but I sensed the man's zeal. I was wasting my time. As I climbed back into my truck, I shouted, "Anything happens to Sophie, it's on you."
I took off and spun my wheels in frustration, throwing up clods of sod from his thick, weedless lawn. If I had to, I would check every Amish farm along the state road until someone told me what I needed to know or until I happened to stumble into the right place.
A half-mile after turning onto the hard road, I pulled up behind a horse-drawn buggy. Zipping past, I skidded to a halt in front of them remaining in the traffic lane, forcing the driver to stop. I was out of my truck and bounding toward them, still jacked from my encounter with the farmer.
The buggy was being driven by a woman who appeared to be pushing forty. A girl, Sophie's age clutched the woman's arm. Both sat erect and studied me, suspicion clear in their expressions.
Grabbing the horse's reins, I took a calming breath. "Please forgive me for scaring you. I mean you no harm. I have an emergency and need your help."
The two ladies exchanged glances and relaxed their postures. The older one asked, "How can we help you, sir?"
I introduced myself and stated my business.
The younger one held a hand to her mouth after hearing what I said. The older one screwed up her face. "Titus Weiss? That man is not of our faith. He is pretend Amish to suit his agenda."
"You know him then?"
She went quiet.
Trying my best to control my frustration, I said, "Look, ma'am, the Amish girl being held is called Sophia Marie Bieler from Minnesota. She's been trafficked. She's alone and probably scared out of her mind." I figured giving out this information would make it more personal, make it more real to these ladies.
Neither of them responded.
I pointed to the younger lady and addressed the older one. "Your daughter, I assume? She's Sophie's age. What if it was your daughter being held against her will?"
The younger lady rested a hand on her mother's shoulder and got her attention. Some silent communication occurred between the two of them. When they turned their attention back to me, the older lady said, "Our farm is a mile down this road. You're welcome to follow us there. You can talk to my husband."
"Will he help me? Will he help Sophie?"
The woman wore an annoyed expression. "As I said, you can talk to my husband."
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Is Evan doing the right thing taking this on himself, or should he be contacting law enforcement?
