Free The Girl in a Coma by John Moss Page A

standing at their gate, wearing bright blue and green, with flowing brown hair and no bonnet.
    Rebecca waved back. She took the shawl and laid it over the fence post. Her mother would be able to use it in Canada. Then she turned and walked toward the community that had grown up around the white painted Mennonite church—the church where she and Jacob Shantz had shared her first and only kiss. The kiss on his cheek when they parted at Valley Forge wasn’t really a kiss.
    Warwick had three churches and a hostelry called The Warwick Hotel. Rebecca went to the hotel, which had been bought a few years earlier by a man who owned two slaves—a man and a woman. The Mennonite elders had told him he could not run his business there if he had slaves. So he sold them.
    Rebecca paid for a room for one night with some of the money Madge de Vere had given her. After cleaning up, as a treat she went to Nixon’s Dry Goods store and bought some clothes. She returned to the hotel to leave her parcel of clothes and then walked down the main street in the direction of the British garrison.
    She passed many Mennonites as she walked, people she had known all her life. The men and boys looked straight through her. The women cast their eyes to the side. Girls her own age or younger blushed and pretended not to see her.
    Rebecca walked with her head down. She nearly bumped into a woman dressed in black. She moved to the side. The woman moved the same way.
    â€œExcuse me,” Rebecca said.
    The woman, who was carrying a gray shawl over her arm, stood her ground.
    â€œLook at me, girl. Won’t you look at your mother? Did you not know I could recognize my own child? Hold your head up, Rebecca.”
    Her mother was defiant.
    â€œLet those who are without sin be our judges. Only them.” She seemed to sigh. “We are going to Canada, Rebecca. I am sorry you cannot come. Your father would forbid it. We will be among our brethren, just across the river near the great Falls. But when this war is over, you will come to visit. I will see that your father allows it.”
    â€œ Danke, Mutter .”
    Suddenly, Rebecca realized her mother had been speaking to her in English. Standing on Main Street. Looking her straight in the eye. Without shame.
    â€œThank you, Mother,” she repeated in English.
    â€œAnd do you know who killed Noah Shantz, Rebecca? That is why you are here, yes?”
    â€œThat is why I am here.”
    An idea was beginning to form, but she couldn’t be certain.
    â€œI will go with you,” her mother announced.
    Together, they marched down the street to the outskirts of town. They found the commanding officer of the garrison. He was busy. The British had fled from Philadelphia when George Washington arrived. The commandant was packing up to join his fellow Redcoats in retreat.
    He seemed surprised to see a Mennonite woman accompanied by a girl who was obviously not Mennonite.
    â€œCaptain, I am here about Jacob Shantz,” Rebecca announced.
    â€œHe did not murder his father,” her mother declared.
    â€œAnd how do you know that?” the officer demanded, speaking to Rebecca.
    â€œ How do you know that ?” her mother asked Rebecca in German.
    Suddenly, it all became clear. If Jacob did not take Old Bess, like everyone thought, then someone else did. The soldier with the scar had been trying to tell her, the person who took Bess murdered Noah Shantz when he tried to stop him.
    â€œThere were two soldiers who came looking for Jacob,” said Rebecca. “But, earlier that morning, did someone sell a horse to the British Army? Do you keep records?”
    â€œI don’t have to look at the records. The answer is ‘yes.’ Private Panabaker sold us a horse. We had not eaten meat for three weeks. It was a life saver and very tasty.”
    â€œOld Bess!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Poor Old Bess.” She took a deep breath. “Your soldier stole