Gone Missing (Kate Burkholder 4)

 
PROLOGUE
     
    Becca had always known her life would end in tragedy. As a child, she couldn’t speak to her certainty of her fate or explain how she could foresee such a thing. She believed in providence, and it came as no surprise when she realized she would also die young.
    When she was seven years old, she asked her mamm about death. Her mother told her that when people die, they go to live with God. The answer pleased Becca immensely. It gave her great comfort, knowing what she did about her destiny. After that day, not once did she fear the closeness or inevitability of her mortality.
    Now, eight years later, as she stood on the frozen shore of Mohawk Lake and stared across the vast expanse of ice, her mother’s words calmed the fear that had been building inside her for days. Dusk had fallen, and the lake was a monochrome world in which sky and horizon blended to a gray smear, one barely discernible from the other. A dozen or more ice-fishing shanties dotted the lake’s surface. Yellow light glowed in one of the windows. But the others were dark, telling her the Englischer fishermen had gone home for the day.
    The wind scored Becca’s skin through the covering of her wool coat as she stepped onto the ice. Blowing snow whispered across the jagged plane and stung her face like sand. The hem of her dress was frozen and stiff and scraped against her bare calves. She’d been walking for quite some time and could no longer feel her hands or feet. But those petty discomforts didn’t matter. Soon she’d be home, and she didn’t have much farther to go.
    Becca loved this lake. Summer or winter—it didn’t matter. When she was a little girl, her datt bought her and her brother ice skates and they’d spent many a winter afternoon playing hockey. By spring, she could skate faster than any of her Amish friends, even faster than her older brother. He hadn’t liked being shown up by a girl. But her datt would laugh and clap his hands and tell her she could fly. His praise, such a rarity, always made her feel special. Like she mattered and her achievements, regardless of how small, were important.
    The lake became her special place, her hideaway from the rest of the world, away from her troubles. It was the place where she learned to dream. No one could catch her when she was on the ice. No one could touch her. No one could hurt her.
    Only he had.
    When Becca was nine years old, her brother found her sitting on the stump, lacing her skates. He’d knocked her down and ground her face into the snow, and then he took her right there on the frozen bank. And from that day forward, Becca knew she was doomed.
    Later, when her mamm asked about the cut on her cheek, Becca told her what her brother had done. It wasn’t the first time and, as always, Mamm blamed Becca. You should have fought harder. You should have prayed more. You should be more forgiving. She ended the conversation by asking Becca to confess her sins to the bishop.
    The memory brought tears to Becca’s eyes. How could her brother’s actions be her fault? Had she somehow tempted him? Was there something wrong with her? Was God punishing her for being unable to forgive? Or was this simply her lot in life?
    Snow crunched beneath her shoes as she made her way across the ice. Becca was nearly to the center of the lake when she stumbled over a fissure and went to her hands and knees. The cold bit into her skin with the intensity of a thousand blades. She knew it was stupid, but she began to cry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be scared, and she hadn’t expected to feel so alone.
    A little voice reminded her it wasn’t too late to turn back. Her warm bed in her little attic bedroom waited for her at home. Mamm and Datt didn’t have to know she’d ventured out. But Becca knew there were other things waiting for her at home. Bad things that had been happening to her since she was three years old, when her brother had slipped his hand into her panties and told her not to cry.
    Becca knew what she was about to do was a sin. But she also knew God would forgive her. She knew He would welcome her to heaven with open arms and love her unconditionally for all of eternity. How could that be wrong?
    Rising, she looked around to get her bearings. Behind her, the trees near the shore were barely visible. Farther out, the silhouette of an ice-fishing shanty shimmered like a mirage in the fading light. Brushing snow from her coat, she