By the time I reach the turnoff for Schrock’s farm, I’m out of breath. Keeping in mind that he has at least one dog, I start down the lane, staying alert, keeping an eye on my surroundings. But the place is seemingly deserted. I pass by the barn where worship was held. On Sunday, it was a pleasant place filled with Amish families, singing, and frolicking children. Tonight, the darkened windows watch me like menacing eyes as I pass.

A few hundred yards in and Schrock’s house looms into view. The downstairs windows glow yellow with lantern light. The upstairs windows are dark. The scent of wood smoke laces the air, and I wonder if he’s inside, sitting next to the fire, reading Martyrs Mirror. I wonder if Esther and her new baby are with him. I wonder if they’re safe.

The sound of a horse’s snort jerks my attention to the two buggies parked outside the barn. I hadn’t noticed them upon my approach. Slinking into the cover of the trees, I skirt the house and move closer to the barn. The sliding door is open. A yellow slash of lantern light bleeds out. Evidently, Schrock has visitors and they’re in the barn.

It’s a two-story bank barn with a stone foundation and a dirt ramp that leads to the sliding door. The second-level windows are dark, the loft door closed.

A sound resembling the pop of a BB gun startles me. I look over my shoulder, but quickly realize it’s coming from inside the barn. My feet are silent against the snow as I wind through the trees. I’m close enough to hear voices now. Men speaking Pennsylvania Dutch and engaged in an animated conversation. I’m about twenty feet from the barn with my back against a tree when I realize the exchange is not a friendly one. Another pop! snaps through the air. This time it’s followed by a yelp. Not a BB gun, I realize. Something else …

I stand there for a moment, listening, wondering if I can get close enough to see what’s going on without being seen. I’ll have to traverse ten or twelve yards of open ground with no cover. No trees. Not even a fence.

I work my way through the trees to the rear of the barn. Thankfully, there are no cattle or horses. Out of the line of sight of the front door, I leave the cover of the trees and cross to the barn. Upon reaching it, I press my back against the foundation and sidle toward the front of the building. I struggle to control my breathing, but my heart is pounding. If someone walks out of the barn and comes around to the side, I’ll have some explaining to do.