Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

Die sunn is am unnergeh! ”
    Smiling at the voice of his four-year-old son, Paul glanced to his right. Through the blood-red foliage of the maples, elms, and black walnut trees that grew alongside the road, glowing pink fingers of the setting sun speared through deepening clouds. “The Lord blessed us with another beautiful day, eh?”
    “ Datt, David won’t botch with me,” came six-year-old Norah’s voice from the rear of the buggy.
    Botching was a clapping game their mamm had been teaching young Norah for the last few days. The girl had been pestering her older brother to play with her since. “I think he must be busy eating his ice cream,” Paul offered.
    “But he’s finished.”
    David, his oldest child at eight years of age, poked his head out from the interior of the buggy and looked up at him. “Botching is for girls, Datt. Don’t make me play with her.”
    Paul glanced over his shoulder at his daughter. “He has a point, Norah.”
    She came up beside her brother and set her hand on his shoulder. Paul saw a sticky-looking patch of melted chocolate ice cream on her knuckles. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said with grave seriousness.
    That made Paul laugh. Love for his children moved through him with such power his chest ached. Not for the first time that day, he thanked God for all of the blessings bestowed upon him.
    “We’re almost home,” he said. “Why don’t you sing one of the botching songs instead?” He posed the question absently; they were coming upon a blind intersection. He liked to be ready in case Sampson spooked.
    Tightening his grip on the reins, Paul craned his head forward to check for oncoming traffic. The trees were too thick to see, but there was no telltale glow of headlights. He didn’t hear an engine or the hiss of tires against the pavement. It was safe to proceed.
    In the rear of the buggy, Norah began to sing Pop Goes the Weasel .
“ All around the mulberry bush.
The monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey stopped to pull up his sock…”
    Paul could hear the children clapping now, and he knew Norah had persuaded her older brother to play. He smiled to himself; she was quite the little negotiator and strong willed, like her mother.
    They were nearly to the intersection and wholly alone on the road. Clucking to Sampson to pick up the pace, Paul began to sing along with the children.
“All around the chicken coop,
the possum chased the weasel.”
    The roar of an engine came out of nowhere, with the sudden violence of a jet falling from the sky. Paul caught a glimpse of the screaming black beast to his right. A knife slash of adrenaline streaked across his belly. A deep stab of fear. Too late, he hauled back on the reins, shouted, “Whoa!”
    The horse’s steel shoes slid on the asphalt.
    The impact jolted him violently. He heard the crash! of splintering fiberglass and wood. A hot streak of pain in his side. And then he was airborne. Around him, the buggy exploded into a hundred pieces. Paul thought he heard a child’s cry and then the ground rushed up and slammed into him.
    The next thing he knew he was on the ground with his face pressed against the earth. Dry grass scratching his cheek. The taste of blood in his mouth. The knowledge that he was badly injured trickling into his brain. But all he could think about was the children. Where were they? Why were they silent? He had to go to them, make sure they were all right.
    Please, dear Lord, watch over my children.
    He tried to move, groaning with the effort, but his body refused the command. Unable to move or speak, he listened for the children’s voices, their cries, for any sign of life, but he heard only silence, the tinkle of rain against the asphalt, and the whisper of wind through the trees.

 
    CHAPTER 1
    When it rains, it pours. Those words were one of my mamm ’s favorite maxims when I was growing up. As a child, I didn’t understand its true meaning, and I didn’t spend much time trying to figure it out. In the eyes of the Amish girl I’d been, more was almost always a good thing. The world around me was a swiftly moving river, chock-full of white-water rapids and deep holes filled with secrets I couldn’t fathom. I was ravenous to raft that river, anxious to dive into all of those dark crevices and unravel their closely guarded secrets. It wasn’t until I entered my twenties that I realized there were times when that river overflowed its banks and a killing flood ensued.
    My mamm is gone