wanted to slap her hands over them, but it wouldnât do any good. The memory would play over and over again inside her head.
âWe can pray.â Molly said, her hand rubbing in a circular motion on Hannahâs back. âThatâs what we do. Pray.â
Michael didnât turn around. He seemed mesmerized by the expanseof water in front of him, with the brilliant sun bouncing across it like a light hitting a sheet of ice and reflecting at odd angles.
âWe pray.â Phoebe nodded.
They bowed their heads. She didnât peek to see if Michael joined them. The silence stretched, broken by Sarahâs cooing and the other kinner chattering on the playground, oblivious. Safe and sound.
âAmen.â
Phoebe raised her head. Fear tightened in a knot between her shoulders. If she didnât do something now, sheâd be twisted like a pretzel on the ground any minute. âWe have to do something. We canât just stand here, waiting, while she wanders farther and farther away.â She marched toward the edge of the road and then stopped. âIt could take them twenty minutes or more to get back here from where theyâre fishing with the time it takes Rachel to walk over there.â
âShe wasnât walking, she was running.â Hannahâs voice cracked. âEven soâ¦â
âMichael.â Phoebe whispered his name. What had they done? Gott, please, let him be the one to find her and bring her back. It was a selfish prayer. Let someone, anyone, find her and lead her home safely. Lord, I pray. And forgive me. Lord, forgive me.
âTell them Iâll take the route to the next swimming beach and then double back.â Michaelâs voice brooked no argument. He sounded much older now. Older than her Daed even.
âDonât get lost.â
âIf I donât find her, it might be better if I did.â The words were distinct even as they faded into the heavy, humid air between them. âFor everyone.â
Chapter 6
P hoebe found she couldnât sit. So she stood. Waiting at the edge of the campsite, the lake shimmering in the distance. Waiting. Any minute now. Who would come first? Mudder or Daed? Which would be better? Mudder, definitely. Or maybe it was better to face Daedâs fierce sternness than Mudderâs infinite disappointment. She tried to pace but her legs wobbled, so she leaned against the closest tree and waited. How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten minutes? She couldnât tell. Each minute that Lydia didnât skip her way back into view seemed like a dozen years.
Gott, please, let her come back. Please bring her home. Show her the way, Gott. I know sheâs in Your hands. I know Youâll keep her safe. Youâll bring her home. You are Gott. Our Savior and Provider. All this is according to Your plan.
According to Your plan?
She drew a long, painful breath and let the smell of earth and decaying leaves calm her.
The sound of an engine revving made her jerk upright. Mudder or Daed? An old blue van rolled around the bend in the road and heaved to a stop, gears grinding. Daed was in the front seat with Mr. Lewis, their Englisch neighbor from New Hope, who loved to fish and came here every year. Daed thrust upon the front passenger door before theengine died. His boots thudded against the dirt, little puffs of dust rising around him.
Luke, Thomas, and Tobias piled out, followed by all the children who had been with them. No one spoke. No jokes or chatter or my fish was bigger than your fish stories, no stories of the big one that got away. Her daed strode directly toward Phoebe, his eyes squinting against the sun, his glare unrelenting.
âWhatâs this I hear from Rachel?â he demanded. âWhereâs Lydia?â
âShe wandered off.â Phoebe began. Her voice quavered and she fought for control. âMichaelâs looking for her.â
âRachel said something about Mudder going