“Ach,” Rosie Glick moaned as the December wind whipped the kapp from her head and sent it tumbling through the air. She stopped pedaling her bike, then propped it on the kickstand and ran to where the starched headgear had landed, only inches away from the steep drop-off that edged the North Georgia mountain road. She retrieved the kapp and brushed the dust from the stiff fabric, then glanced at the churning water, raging at the bottom of the ravine some twenty feet below. Her stomach roiled at the sharp downward slope and the bevy of boulders positioned along the sides of the incline.

Another gust of wind sent her scrambling back to her bike, all too aware of the growing darkness and encroaching storm. Rosie repositioned the kapp on her head and secured it with hairpins before she climbed on her bike, determined to get home before the sky opened and the rain commenced.

The nervous unease within her that had started in town continued to grow. She thought again of the man in the white sedan, talking on his cell phone. Pedaling past his parked car, she had noticed how much he resembled a person she had seen once and never wanted to see again.

Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Thoughts of that horrific night rolled through her mind. The door to Will MacIntosh’s trailer had pushed open, and the man with the gun had forced Will outside. Rosie had escaped, but she had not run fast enough.

Chilled by the memory, she glanced over her shoulder, relieved to find the road empty of vehicles. The last thing she wanted was to be followed. She felt sure the man in town had not seen her, yet she needed to be careful.

Datt would probably question her late arrival. He had never been a man of compassion, and since she had returned home seven months ago, he seemed increasingly short-tempered.

Even her sweet Mamm struggled with his behavior.

Regrettably, her father would never forgive Rosie for the mistake she had made. Baby Joseph was not the problem. Her own stubborn independence had gotten her in trouble, along with her desire to experience life to the fullest, even if it meant running away with an Englischer.

But Will MacIntosh had been murdered, and she had been trafficked and held captive for eight months. She had spent the last month of her confinement in a dank and dark root cellar where she had given birth to Joseph. The memory of their rescue and reunion with her parents had been bittersweet. If only her father had rejoiced at their homecoming.

Hearing the sound of a car engine,

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