“We’re always talking about getting out. But it’s like something we’re going to do in the future, you know? She’s got all these big plans to move to New York and design clothes.”

“Has she mentioned New York recently?”

She shakes her head adamantly. “She wouldn’t go without me.”

“Has she had any problems at home?”

She nods. “Her parents totally don’t get her.”

“Did she have an argument with them?”

“They don’t argue, exactly. But her parents have pretty much laid down the law about Sadie’s art. It’s like they don’t understand that it’s part of her, you know?” She frowns. “They think it’s worldly or something.”

I recall the needlework in Sadie’s bedroom, and I feel a pang in my gut, because I know her art isn’t condoned by her Amish peers. Like so many other things, her art is something she’ll be forced to give up when she’s baptized.

“What about the rest of the Amish community?” I ask. “Any problems she’s mentioned?”

“No.” Lori gives me a knowing look. “But she’s always talking about leaving. She’s tired of the way they live. And she’s struggling with the whole getting baptized thing.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“All the time. She says the Amish are always whispering behind her back, judging her. If she gets baptized, she’ll have to give up everything. Her cell phone. Any dream of owning a car or going to New York. She’ll have to give up her art. That sucks, you know?”

Rumspringa is the time when Amish teens are allowed to experience life without all the constraints of the Ordnung, while the adults look the other way. It’s an exciting time of personal discovery and growth before a young person commits to the church. Was Sadie so conflicted, the pressure so intense, that she fled?

“Did she ever talk about running away?” I ask.

The girl hesitates. “Sometimes.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

She bites her lip. “She would have told me.”

I mentally shift gears, move on to my next question. “Does Sadie have a boyfriend?”

She shakes her head. “She thinks the guys our age are jerks.”

“Let’s go back to the bridge for a moment, Lori. Have you seen any vehicles or buggies you don’t recognize? Any strangers hanging out?”

“Just the usual crowd. You know, from school.”

I push the legal pad and pen at her. “I want you to write down the names of everyone you’ve seen there over the last couple of weeks.”

She picks up the pen. “That’s a lot of names.”

“I’ve got a lot of paper.” I smile at her.

She smiles back. Putting her tongue between her teeth, she starts writing.

“So what do you and Sadie do when you’re at the bridge, anyway?” I ask conversationally.